THE 


SCARLET  LETTER, 


A    ROMANCE. 


•  •:• 


*4 


jQO^ 
NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 
1866. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 

WELCH,    BIGELOW,   AND  COMPANY, 

CAMBRI  DGE. 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION 


MUCH  to  the  author's  surprise,  and  (if  he  may  say 
so  without  additional  offence)  considerably  to  his 
amusement,  he  finds  that  his  sketch  of  official  life, 
introductory  to  THE  SCARLET  LETTER,  has  created 
an  unprecedented  excitement  in  the  respectable 
community  immediately  around  him.  It  could 
hardly  have  been  more  violent,  indeed,  had  he 
burned  down  the  Custom-House,  and  quenched  its 
last  smoking  ember  in  the  blood  of  a  certain  ven- 
erable personage,  against  whom  he  is  supposed  to 
cherish  a  peculiar  malevolence.  As  the  public 
disapprobation  would  weigh  very  heavily  on  him, 
were  he  conscious  of  deserving  it,  the  author  begs 
leave  to  say,  that  he  has  carefully  read  over  the  in- 
troductory pages,  with  a  purpose  to  alter  or  expunge 
whatever  might  be  found  amiss,  and  to  make  the 
best  reparation  in  his  power  for  the  atrocities  of 
which  he  has  been  adjudged  guilty.  But  it 
appears  to  him,  that  the  only  remarkable  features 
of  the  sketch  are  its  frank  and  genuine  good- 


IV  PREFACE. 

humor,  and  the  general  accuracy  with  which  he 
has  conveyed  his  sincere  impressions  of  the  char- 
acters therein  described.  As  to  enmity,  or  ill- 
feeling  of  any  kind,  personal  or  political,  he 
utterly  disclaims  such  motives.  The  sketch 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  wholly  omitted,  with- 
out loss  to  the  public  or  detriment  to  the  book; 
but,  having  undertaken  to  write  it,  he  conceives 
that  it  could  not  have  been  done  in  a  better  or  a 
kindlier  spirit,  nor,  so  far  as  his  abilities  availed, 
with  a  livelier  effect  of  truth. 

The  author  is  constrained,  therefore,  to  repub- 
lish  his  introductory  sketch  without  the  change  of 
a  word. 

SALEM,  March  30,  1850. 


CONTENTS. 


PAQB 

THE  CUSTOM-HOUSE  .  —  INTRODUCTORY 1 


I.  —  THE  PRISON-DOOR .    53 

II.  —  THE  MARKET-PLACE 55 

III.  —  THE  RECOGNITION 68 

IV.  — THE  INTERVIEW 80 

V.  —  HESTER  AT  HER  NEEDLE 89 

VI.  — PEARL 101 

VII.  —  THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL 114 

III.  —  THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE  MINISTER 123 

IX.  —  THE  LEECH 135 

X.  —  THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT 148 

XI.  —  THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  HEART 161 

XII.  —  THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL 170 

fill.  —  ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER 184 

tflV.  —  HESTER  AND  THE  PHYSICIAN 195 

XV.  —  HESTER  AND  PEARL 204 

fVi.  — A  FOREST  WALK 213 

/'TIL  —  THE  PASTOR  AND  HIS  PARISHIONER .221 

/  VIII.  —  A  FLOOD  OF  SUNSHINE 233 

TJX.  —  THE  CHILD  AT  THE  BROOK-SIDE 241 

A^ 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

XX.  — THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE .   .   .   .  250 

XXL  — THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY 264 

XXII.  — THE  PROCESSION 276 

XXIII.  —  THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER  .    .   .  289 
XXIV".  — CONCLUSION .   .   .   .  300 


- 

•f 

THE  CUSTOM-HOUSE. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  "THE  SCARLET  LETTER." 


IT  is  a  little  remarkable,  that  —  though  disinclined  to 
talk  overmuch  of  myself  and  my  affairs  at  the  fireside, 
and  to  my  personal  friends  —  an  autobiographical  im- 
pulse should  twice  in  my  life  have  taken  possession  of 
me,  in  addressing  the  public.  The  first  time  was  three 
or  four  years  since,  when  I  favored  the  reader  —  inex- 
cusably, and  for  no  earthly  reason,  that  either  the  in- 
dulgent reader  or  the  intrusive  author  could  imagine  — 
with  a  description  of  my  way  of  life  in  the  deep  qui- 
etude of  an  Old  Manse.  And  now  —  because,  beyond 
my  deserts,  I  was  happy  enough  to  find  a  listener  or 
two  on  the  former  occasion  —  I  again  seize  the  public  by 
the  button,  and  talk  of  my  three  years'  experience  in  a 
Custom-House.  The  example  of  the  famous  "P.  P., 
Clerk  of  this  Parish,"  was  never  more  faithfully  fol- 
lowed. The  truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that,  when  he 
casts  his  leaves  forth  upon  the  wind,  the  author  addresses, 
not  the  many  who  will  fling  aside  his  volume,  or  never 
take  it  up,  but  the  few  who  will  understand  him,  better 
than  most  of  his  schoolmates  or  lifemates.  Some  au- 
thors, indeed,  do  far  more  than  this,  and  indulge  them- 
1 


2  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

selves  in  such  confidential  depths  of  revelation  as  could 
fittingly  be  addressed,  only  and  exclusively,  to  the  one 
heart  and  mind,  of  perfect  sympathy ;  as  if  the  printed 
book,  thrown  at  large  on  the  wide  world,  were  certain  to 
find  out  the  divided  segment  of  the  writer's  own  nature, 
and  complete  his  circle  of  existence  by  bringing  him  into 
communion  with  it.  It  is  scarcely  decorous,  however, 
to  speak  all,  even  where  we  speak  impersonally.  But, 
as  thoughts  are  frozen  and  utterance  benumbed,  unless 
the  speaker  stand  in  some  true  relation  with  his  au- 
dience, it  may  be  pardonable  to  imagine  that  a  friend, 
a  kind  and  apprehensive,  though  not  the  closest  friend, 
is  listening  to  our  talk  ;  and  then,  a  native  reserve  being 
thawed  by  this  genial  consciousness,  we  may  prate  of 
the  circumstances  that  lie  around  us,  and  even  of  ourself, 
but  still  keep  the  inmost  Me  behind  its  veil.  To  this 
extent,  and  within  these  limits,  an  author,  methinks,  may 
be  autobiographical,  without  violating  either  the  reader's 
rights  or  his  own. 

It  will  be  seen,  likewise,  that  this  Custom-House 
sketch  has  a  certain  propriety,  of  a  kind  always  recog- 
nized in  literature,  as  explaining  how  a  large  portion  of 
the  following  pages  came  into  my  possession,  and  as 
offering  proofs  of  the  authenticity  of  a  narrative  therein 
contained.  This,  in  fact,  —  a  desire  to  put  myself  in 
my  true  position  as  editor,  or  very  little  more,  of  the 
most  prolix  among  the  tales  that  make  up  my  volume, 
—  this,  and  no  other,  is  my  true  reason  for  assuming  a 
personal  relation  with  the  public.  In  accomplishing  the 
main  purpose,  it  has  appeared  allowable,  by  a  few  extra 
touches,  to  give  a  faint  representation  of  a  mode  of  life 
not  heretofore  described,  together  with  some  of  the  char- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE. 

acters  that  move  in  it,  among  whom  the  author  hap- 
pened to  make  one. 

In  my  native  town  of  Salem,  at  the  head  of  what, 
half  a  century  ago,  in  the  days  of  old  King  Derby,  was 
a  bustling  wharf,  —  but  which  is  now  burdened  with 
decayed  wooden  warehouses,  and  exhibits  few  or  no 
symptoms  of  commercial  life ;  except,  perhaps,  a  bark  or 
brig,  half-way  down  its  melancholy  length,  discharging 
hides  ;  or,  nearer  at  hand,  a  Nova  Scotia  schooner,  pitch- 
ing out  her  cargo  of  fire-wood,  —  at  the  head,  I  say, 
of  this  dilapidated  wharf,  which  the  tide  often  overflows, 
and  along  which,  at  the  base  and  in  the  rear  of  the  row 
of  buildings,  the  track  of  many  languid  years  is  seen  in 
a  border  of  unthrifty  grass,  —  here,  with  a  view  from  its 
front  windows  adown  this  not  very  enlivening  prospect, 
and  thence  across  the  harbor,  stands  a  spacious  edifice 
of  brick.  From  the  loftiest  point  of  its  roof,  during  pre- 
cisely three  and  a  half  hours  of  each  forenoon,  floats  or 
droops,  in  breeze  or  calm,  the  banner  of  the  republic ; 
but  with  the  thirteen  stripes  turned  vertically,  instead  of 
horizontally,  and  thus  indicating  that  a  civil,  and  not  a 
military  post  of  Uncle  Sam's  government,  is  here  estab- 
lished. Its  front  is  ornamented  with  a  portico  of  half  a 
dozen  wooden  pillars,  supporting  a  balcony,  beneath 
which  a  flight  of  wide  granite  steps  descends  towards  the 
street.  Over  the  entrance  hovers  an  enormous  specimen 
of  the  American  eagle,  with  outspread  wings,  a  shield 
before  her  breast,  and,  if  I  recollect  aright,  a  bunch  of 
intermingled  thunderbolts  and  barbed  arrows  in  each 
claw.  With  the  customary  infirmity  of  temper  that 
characterizes  this  unhappy  fowl,  she  appears,  by  the 


4  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

fierceness  of  her  beak  and  eye,  and  the  general  trucu- 
lency  of  her  attitude,  to  threaten  mischief  to  the  inoffen- 
sive community;  and  especially  to  warn  all  citizens, 
careful  of  their  safety,  against  intruding  on  the  premises 
which  she  overshadows  with  her  wings.  Nevertheless, 
vixenly  as  she  looks,  many  people  are  seeking,  at  thi* 
very  moment,  to  shelter  themselves  under  the  wing  of 
the  federal  eagle ;  imagining,  I  presume,  that  her  bosom 
has  all  the  softness  and  snugness  of  an  eider-down  pil- 
low. But  she  has  no  great  tenderness,  even  in  her  best 
of  moods,  and,  sooner  or  later,  —  oftener  soon  than  late, 

—  is  apt  to  fling  off  her  nestlings,  with  a  scratch  of  her 
claw,  a  dab  of  her  beak,  or  a  rankling  wound  from  her 
barbed  arrows. 

The  pavement  round  about  the  above-described  edifice 

—  which  we  may  as  well  name  at  once  as  the  Custom- 
House  of  the  port  —  has  grass  enough  growing  in  its 
chinks  to  show  that  it  has  not,  of  late  days,  been  worn 
by  any  multitudinous  resort  of  business.    In  some  months 
of  the  year,  however,  there  often  chances  a  forenoon  when 
affairs  move  onward  with  a  livelier  tread.     Such  occa- 
sions might  remind  the  elderly  citizen  of  that  period, 
before  the  last  war  with  England,  when  Salem  was  a 
port  by  itself ;  not  scorned,  as  she  is  now,  by  her  own 
merchants  and  ship-owners,  who  permit  her  wharves  to 
crumble  to  ruin,  while  their  ventures  go  to  swell,  need- 
lessly and  imperceptibly,  the  mighty  flood  of  commerce 
at  New  York  or  Boston.     On  some  such  morning,  when 
three  or  four  vessels  happen  to  have  arrived  at  once,  — - 
usually  from  Africa  or  South  America,  —  or  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  their  departure  thitherward,  there  is  a  sound 
of  frequent  feet,  passing  briskly  up  and  down  tho  granite 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  O 

steps.  Here,  before  his  own  wife  has  greeted  him,  you 
may  greet  the  sea-flushed  ship-master,  just  in  port,  with 
his  vessel's  papers  under  his  arm,  in  a  tarnished  tin  box. 
Here,  too,  comes  his  owner,  cheerful  or  sombre,  gracious 
or  in  the  sulks,  accordingly  as  his  scheme  of  the  now 
accomplished  voyage  has  been  realized  in  merchandise 
that  will  readily  be  turned  to  gold,  or  has  buried  him 
under  a  bulk  of  incommodities,  such  as  nobody  will  care 
to  rid  him  of.  Here,  likewise,  —  the  germ  of  the  wrin- 
kle-browed, grizzly -bearded,  care-worn  merchant,  —  we 
have  the  smart  young  clerk,  who  gets  the  taste  of  traffic 
as  a  wolf-cub  does  of  blood,  and  already  sends  adven- 
tures in  his  master's  ships,  when  he  had  better  be  sailing 
mimic -boats  upon  a  mill-pond.  Another  figure  in  the 
scene  is  the  outward-bound  sailor,  in  quest  of  a  protec- 
tion ;  or  the  recently  arrived  one,  pale  and  feeble,  seek- 
ing a  passport  to  the  hospital.  Nor  must  we  forget  the 
captains  of  the  rusty  little  schooners  that  bring  fire-wood 
from  the  British  provinces ;  a  rough-looking  set  of  tar- 
paulins, without  the  alertness  of  the  Yankee  aspect,  but 
contributing  an  item  of  no  slight  importance  to  our 
decaying  trade. 

Cluster  all  these  individuals  together,  as  they  some- 
times were,  with  other  miscellaneous  ones  to  diversify 
the  group,  and,  for  the  time  being,  it  made  the  Custcm- 
House  a  stirring  scene.  Mor£  frequently,  however,  on 
ascending  the  steps,  you  would  discern  —  in  the  entry, 
if  it  were  summer  time,  or  in  their  appropriate  rooms, 
if  wintry  or  inclement  weather  —  a  row  of  venerable 
figures,  sitting  in  old-fashioned  chairs,  which  were  tipped 
on  their  hind  legs  back  against  the  wall.  Oftentimes 
they  were  asleep,  but  occasionally  might  be  heard  talk- 


6  THE    SCARLET    .LETTER. 

ing  together,  in  voices  between  speech  and  a  snore,  and 
with  that  lack  of  energy  that  distinguishes  the  occupants 
of  alms-houses,  and  all  other  human  beings  who  depend 
for  subsistence  on  charity,  on  monopolized  labor,  or  any- 
thing else  but  their  own  independent  exertions.  These 
old  gentlemen  —  seated,  like  Matthew,  at  the  receipt  of 
customs,  but  not  very  liable  to  be  summoned  thence, 
like  him,  for  apostolic  errands  —  were  Custom-House 
officers. 

Furthermore,  on  the  left  hand  as  you  enter  the  front 
door,  is  a  certain  room  or  office,  about  fifteen  feet  square, 
and  of  a  lofty  height ;  with  two  of  its  arched  windows 
commanding  a  view  of  the  aforesaid  dilapidated  wharf, 
and  the  third  looking  across  a  narrow  lane,  and  along  a 
portion  of  Derby-street.  All  three  give  glimpses  of  the 
shops  of  grocers,  block-makers,  slop-sellers,  and  ship- 
chandlers  ;  around  the  doors  of  which  are  generally  to 
be  seen,  laughing  and  gossiping,  clusters  of  old  salts, 
and  such  other  wharf-rats  as  haunt  the  Wapping  of  a 
seaport.  The  room  itself  is  cobwebbed,  and  dingy  with 
old  paint ;  its  floor  is  strewn  with  gray  sand,  in  a 
fashion  that  has  elsewhere  fallen  into  long  disuse;  and 
it  is  easy  to  conclude,  from  the  general  slovenliness  of 
the  place,  that  this  is  a  sanctuary  into  which  woman- 
kind, with  her  tools  of  magic,  the  broom  and  mop,  has 
very  infrequent  access.  In  the  way  of  furniture,  there 
is  a  stove  with  a  voluminous  funnel ;  an  old  pine  desk, 
with  a  three-legged  stool  beside  it ;  two  or  three  wooden- 
bottom  chairs,  exceedingly  decrepit  and  infirm ;  and  — 
not  to  forget  the  library  —  on  some  shelves,  a  score  or 
two  of  volumes  of  the  Acts  cf  Congress,  and  a  bulky 
Digest  of  the  Revenue  Laws.  A  tin  pipe  ascends  through 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  7 

the  ceiling,  and  forms  a  medium  of  vocal  communication 
with  other  parts  of  the  edifice.  And  here,  some  six 
months  ago,  —  pacing  from  corner  to  corner,  or  lounging 
on  the  long-legged  stool,  with  his  elbow  on  the  desk, 
and  his  eyes  wandering  up  and  down .  the  columns  of 
the  morning  newspaper,  —  you  might  have  recognized, 
honored  reader,  the  same  individual  who  welcomed  you 
into  his  cheery  little  study,  where  the  sunshine  glim- 
mered so  pleasantly  through  the  willow  branches,  on  the 
western  side  of  the  Old  Manse.  But  now.  should  you 
go  thither  to  seek  him,  you  would  inquire  in  vain  for  the 
Locofoco  Surveyor.  The  besom  of  reform  has  swept 
him  out  of  office ;  and  a  worthier  successor  wears  his 
dignity,  and  pockets  his  emoluments. 

This  old  town  of  Salem  —  my  native  place,  though  1 
have  dwelt  much  away  from  it,  both  in  boyhood  and 
maturer  years  —  possesses,  or  did  possess,  a  hold  on  my 
affections,  the  force  of  which  I  have  never  realized  dur- 
ing my  seasons  of  actual  residence  here.  Indeed,  so  far 
as  its  physical  aspect  is  concerned,  with  its  flat,  unvaried 
surface,  covered  chiefly  with  wooden  houses,  few  or  none 
of  which  pretend  to  architectural  beauty,  —  its  irregu- 
larity, which  is  neither  picturesque  nor  quaint,  but  only 
tarns,  —  its  long  and  lazy  street,  lounging  wearisomely 
through  the  whole  extent  of  the  peninsula,  with  Gallows 
Hill  and  New  Guinea  at  one  end,  and  a  view  of  the 
alms-house  at  the  other,  —  such  being  the  features  of 
my  native  town,  it  would  be  quite  as  reasonable  to  form 
a  sentimental  attachment  to  a  disarranged  checker-board. 
And  yet,  though  invariably  happiest  elsewhere,  there  is 
within  me  a  feeling  for  old  Salem,  which,  in  lack  of  a 
better  phrase,  I  must  be  content  to  call  affection.  The 


8  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

sentiment  is  probably  assignable  to  the  deep  and  aged 
roots  which  my  family  has  struck  into  the  soil.  It  is 
now  nearly  two  centuries  and  a  quarter  since  the  origi- 
nal Briton,  the  earliest  emigrant  of  my  name,  made  his 
appearance  in  the  wild  and  forest-bordered  settlement, 
which  has  since  become  a  city.  And  here  his  descend- 
ants have  been  born  and  died,  and  have  mingled  their 
earthy  substance  with  the  soil ;  until  no  small  portion 
of  it  must  necessarily  be  akin  to  the  mortal  frame  where- 
with, for  a  little  while,  I  walk  the  streets.  In  part,  there- 
fore, the  attachment  which  I  speak  of  is  the  mere  sensu- 
ous sympathy  of  dust  for  dust.  Few  of  my  countrymen 
can  know  what  it  is  ;  nor,  as  frequent  transplantation  is 
perhaps  better  for  the  stock,  need  they  consider  it  desir- 
able to  know. 

But  the  sentiment  has  likewise  its  moral  quality.  The 
figure  of  that  first  ancestor,  invested  by  family  tradition 
with  a  dim  and  dusky  grandeur,  was  present  to  my  boy- 
ish imagination,  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.  It  still 
haunts  me,  and  induces  a  sort  of  home-feeling  with  the 
past,  which  I  scarcely  claim  in  reference  to  the  present 
phase  of  the  town.  I  seem  to  have  a  stronger  claim  to 
a  residence  here  on  account  of  this  grave,  bearded,  sable- 
cloaked  and  steeple-crowned  progenitor,  —  who  came  so 
early,  with  his  Bible  and  his  sword,  and  trode  the  un- 
worn street  with  such  a  stately  port,  and  made  so  large 
a  figure,  as  a  man  of  war  and  peace,  —  a  stronger  claim 
than  for  myself,  whose  name  is  seldom  heard  and  my 
face  hardly  known.  He  was  a  soldier,  legislator,  judge ; 
he  was  a  ruler  in  the  Church ;  he  had  all  the  Puritanic 
traits,  both  good  and  evil.  He  was  likewise  a  better 
persecutor ,  as  witness  the  Quakers,  who  have  remem- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  9 

bered  him  in  their  histories,  and  relate  an  incident  of 
his  hard  severity  towards  a  woman  of  their  sect,  which 
will  last  longer,  it  is  to  be  feared,  than  any  record  of  his 
better  deeds,  although  these  were  many.  His  son,  too, 
inherited  the  persecuting  spirit,  and  made  himself  so 
conspicuous  in  the  martyrdom  of  the  witches,  that  their 
blood  may  fairly  be  said  to  have  left  a  stain  upon  him. 
So  deep  a  stain,  indeed,  that  his  old  dry  bones,  in  the 
Charter-street  burial-ground,  must  still  retain  it,  if  they 
have  not  crumbled  utterly  to  dust !  I  know  not  whether 
these  ancestors  of  mine  bethought  themselves  to  repent, 
and  ask  pardon  of  heaven  for  their  cruelties ;  or  whether 
they  are  now  groaning  under  the  heavy  consequences 
of  them,  in  another  state  of  being.  At  all  events,  I,  the 
present  writer,  as  their  representative,  hereby  take  shame 
upon  myself  for  their  sakes,  and  pray  that  any  curse 
incurred  by  them  —  as  I  have  heard,  and  as  the  dreary 
and  unprosperous  condition  of  the  race,  for  many  a  long 
year  back,  would  argue  to  exist  —  may  be  now  anl 
henceforth  removed. 

Doubtless,  'however,  either  of  these  stern  and  black- 
browed  Puritans  would  have  thought  it  quite  a  suffi- 
cient retribution  for  his  sins,  that,  after  so  long  a  lapse 
of  years,  the  old  trunk  of  the  family  tree,  with  so  much 
venerable  moss  upon  it,  should  have  borne,  as  its  top- 
most bough,  an  idler  like  myself.  No  aim,  that  I  have 
ever  cherished,  would  they  recognize  as  laudable ;  no 
success  of  mine  —  if  my  life,  beyond  its  domestic  scope, 
had  ever  been  brightened  by  success  —  would  they  deem 
otherwise  than  worthless,  if  not  positively  disgraceful. 
"  What  is  he  ? "  murmurs  one  gray  shadow  of  my  fore- 
fathers to  the  other.  "  A  writer  of  story-books  !  What 


10  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

kind  of  a  business  in  life,  — what  mode  of  glorifying 
God,  or  being  serviceable  to  mankind  in  his  day  and 
generation,  — may  that  be  ?  Why,  the  degenerate  fel- 
low might  as  well  have  been  a  fiddler  ! "  Such  are  the 
compliments  bandied  between  my  great-grandsires  and 
myself,  across  the  gulf  of  time  !  And  yet,  let  them  scorn 
me  as  they  will,  strong  traits  of  their  nature  have  inter- 
twined themselves  with  mine. 

Planted  deep,  in  the  town's  earliest  infancy  and  child- 
hood, by  these  two  earnest  and  energetic  men,  the  race 
has  ever  since  subsisted  here ;  always,  too,  in  respecta- 
bility ;  never,  so  far  as  I  have  known,  disgraced  by  a 
single  unworthy  member ;  but  seldom  or  never,  on  the 
other  hand,  after  the  first  two  generations,  performing 
any  memorable  deed,  or  so  much  as  putting  forward  a 
claim  to  public  notice.  Gradually,  they  have  sunk 
almost  out  of  sight ;  as  old  houses,  here  and  there  about 
the  streets,  get  covered  half-way  to  the  eaves  by  the 
accumulation  of  new  soil.  From  father  to  son,  for  above 
a  hundred  years,  they  followed  the  sea  ;  a  gray-headed 
shipmaster,  in  each  generation,  retiring  from  the  quarter- 
deck to  the  homestead,  while  a  boy  of  fourteen  took  the 
hereditary  place  before  the  mast,  confronting  the  salt 
spray  and  the  gale,  which  had  blustered  against  his  sire 
and  grandsire.  The  boy,  also,  in  due  time,  passed 
from  the  forecastle  to  the  cabin,  spent  a  tempestuous 
manhood,  and  returned  from  his  world- wanderings,  to 
grow  old,  and  die,  and  mingle  his  dust  with  the  natal 
earth.  This  long  connection  of  a  family  with  one  spot, 
as  its  place  of  birth  and  burial,  creates  a  kindred  between 
the  human  being  and  the  locality,  quite  independent  of 
any  charm  in  the  scenery  or  moral  circumstances  that 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  11 

surround  him.  It  is  not  love,  but  instinct.  The  new 
inhabitant  —  who  came  himself  from  a  foreign  land,  01 
whose  father  or  grandfather  came  —  has  little  claim  to 
be  called  a  Salemite ;  he  has  no  conception  of  the  oyster- 
like  tenacity  with  which  an  old  settler,  over  whom  his 
third  century  is  creeping,  clings  to  the  spot  where  his 
successive  generations  have  been  imbedded.  It  is  no 
xnatter  that  the  place  is  joyless  for  him ;  that  he  is  weary 
fft  the  old  wooden  houses,  the  mud  and  dust,  the  dead 
<evel  of  site  and  sentiment,  the  chill  east  wind,  and  the 
dullest  of  social  atmospheres  ;  —  all  these,  and  whatever 
vaults  besides  he  may  see  or  imagine,  are  nothing  to  the 
purpose.  The  spell  survives,  and  just  as  powerfully  as 
if  the  natal  spot  were  an  earthly  paradise.  So  has  it 
been  in  my  case.  I  felt  it  almost  as  a  destiny  to  make 
Salem  my  home  ;  so  that  the  mould  of  features  and  cast 
of  character  which  had  all  along  been  familiar  here  — 
ever,  as  one  representative  of  the  race  lay  down  in  his 
grave,  another  assuming,  as  it  were,  his  sentry-march 
along  the  main  street  —  might  still  in  my  little  day  be 
seen  and  recognized  in  the  old  town.  Nevertheless,  this 
very  sentiment  is  an  evidence  that  the  connection,  which 
has  become  an  unhealthy  one,  should  at  least  be  severed. 
Human  nature  will  not  flourish,  any  more  than  a  potato, 
if  it  be  planted  and  replanted,  for  too  long  a  series  of 
generations,  in  the  same  worn-out  soil.  My  children 
have  had  other  birthplaces,  and,  so  far  as  their  fortunes 
may  be  within  my  control,  shall  strike  their  roots  into 
unaccustomed  earth. 

On  emerging  from"  the  Old  Manse,  it  was  chiefly  this 
strange,  indolent,  unjoyous  attachment  for  my  native 
town,  that  brought  me  to  fill  a  place  in  Uncle  Sam'a 


12  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

brick  edifice,  when  I  might  as  well,  or  better,  have  gone 
somewhere  else.  My  doom  was  on  me.  It  was  not  the 
first  time,  nor  the  second,  that  I  had  gone  away,  —  as  it 
seemed,  permanently,  —  but  yet  returned,  like  the  bad 
half-penny ;  or  as  if  Salem  were  for  me  the  inevitable 
centre  of  the  universe.  So,  one  fine  morning,  I  ascended 
the  flight  of  granite  steps,  with  the  President's  commis- 
sion in  my  pocket,  and  was  introduced  to  the  corps  of 
gentlemen  who  were  to  aid  me  in  my  weighty  responsi- 
bility, as  chief  executive  officer  of  the  Custom-House. 

I  doubt  greatly  —  or,  rather,  I  do  not  doubt  at  all  — 
whether  any  public  functionary  of  the  United  States, 
either  in  the  civil  or  military  line,  has  ever  had  such  a 
patriarchal  body  of  veterans  under  his  orders  as  myself. 
The  whereabouts  of  the  Oldest  Inhabitant  was  at  once 
settled,  when  I  looked  at  them.  For  upwards  of  twenty 
years  before  this  epoch,  the  independent  position  of  the 
Collector  had  kept  the  Salem  Custom-House  out  of  the 
whirlpool  of  political  vicissitude,  which  makes  the  tenure 
of  office  generally  so  fragile.  A  soldier,  —  New  Eng- 
land's most  distinguished  soldier,  —  he  stood  firmly  on 
the  pedestal  of  his  gallant  services ;  and,  himself  secure 
in  the  wise  liberality  of  the  successive  administrations 
through  which  he  had  held  office,  he  had  been  the  safety 
of  his  subordinates  in  many  an  hour  of  danger  and  heart- 
quake.  General  Miller  was  radically  conservative;  a 
man  over  whose  kindly  nature  habit  had  no  slight  influ- 
ence ;  attaching  himself  strongly  to  familiar  faces,  and 
with  difficulty  moved  to  change,  even  when  change 
might  have  brought  unquestionable  improvement.  Thus, 
on  taking  charge  of  my  department,  I  found  few  but  aged 
men.  They  were  ancient  sea-capta  ns,  for  the  most  part. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOlfSE.  13 

who,  after  being  tost  on  every  sea,  and  standing  up  stur- 
dily against  life's  tempestuous  blast,  had  finally  drifted 
into  this  quiet  nook ;  where,  with  little  to  disturb  them, 
except  the  periodical  terrors  of  a  Presidential  election, 
they  one  and  all  acquired  a  new  lease  of  existence. 
Though  by  no  means  less  liable  than  their  fellow-men 
to  age  and  infirmity,  they  had  evidently  some  talisman 
or  other  that  kept  death  at  bay.  Two  or  three  of  their 
number,  as  I  was  assured,  being  gouty  and  rheumatic, 
or  perhaps  bed-ridden,  never  dreamed  of  making  their 
appearance  at  the  Custom-House,  during  a  large  part  of 
the  year ;  but,  after  a  torpid  winter,  would  creep  out 
into  the  warm  sunshine  of  May  or  June,  go  lazily  about 
what  they  termed  duty,  and,  at  their  own  leisure  and 
convenience,  betake  themselves  to  bed  again.  I  must 
plead  guilty  to  the  charge  of  abbreviating  the  official 
breath  of  more  than  one  of  these  venerable  servants  of 
the  republic.  They  were  allowed,  on  my  representation^ 
to  rest  from  their  arduous  labors,  and  soon  afterwards 
—  as  if  their  sole  principle  of  life  had  been  zeal  for  their 
country's  service  ;  as  I  verily  believe  it  was  —  with- 
drew to  a  better  world.  It  is  a  pious  consolation  to  me, 
that,  through  my  interference,  a  sufficient  space  was 
allowed  them  for  repentance  of  the  evil  and  corrupt  prac- 
tices, into  which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  every  Custom- 
House  officer  must  be  supposed  to  fall.  Neither  the 
front  nor  the  back  entrance  of  the  Custom-House  opens 
on  the  road  to  Paradise. 

The  greater  part  of  my  officers  were  Whigs.  It  was 
well  for  their  venerable  brotherhood  that  the  new  Sur- 
veyor was  not  a  politician,  and  though  a  faithful  Demo- 
crat in  principle,  neither  received  nor  held  his  office 


14  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

with  any  reference  to  political  services.  Had  it  been 
otherwise,  —  had  an  active  politician  been  put  into  this 
influential  post,  to  assume  the  easy  task  of  making 
head  against  a  Whig  Collector,  whose  infirmities  with- 
held him  from  the  personal  administration  of  his  office, 
—  hardly  a  man  of  the  old  corps  would  have  drawn 
the  breath  of  official  life,  within  a  month  after  the  exter- 
minating angel  had  come  up  the  Custom-House  steps. 
According  to  the  received  code  in  such  matters,  it 
would  have  been  nothing  short  of  duty,  in  a  politician, 
to  bring  every  one  of  those  white  heads  under  the  axe 
of  the  guillotine.  It  was  plain  enough  to  discern, 
that  the  old  fellows  dreaded  some  such  discourtesy  at 
my  hands.  It  pained,  and  at  the  same  time  amused 
me,  to  behold  the  terrors  that  attended  my  advent ;  to 
see  a  furrowed  cheek,  weather-beaten  by  half  a  century 
of  storm,  turn  ashy  pale  at  the  glance  of  so  harmless  an 
individual  as  myself;  to  detect,  as  one  or  another 
addressed  me,  the  tremor  of  a  voice,  which,  in  long-past 
days,  had  been  wont  to  bellow  through  a  speaking- 
trumpet,  hoarsely  enough  to  frighten  Boreas  himself  to 
silence.  They  knew,  these  excellent  old  persons,  that, 
by  all  established  rule,  —  and,  as  regarded  some  of 
them,  weighed  by  their  own  lack  of  efficiency  for  busi- 
ness, —  they  ought  to  have  given  place  to  younger  men, 
more  orthodox  in  politics,  and  altogether  fitter  than 
themselves  to  serve  our  common  Uncle.  I  knew  it  too, 
but  could  never  quite  find  in  my  heart  to  act  upon  the 
knowledge.  Much  and  deservedly  to  my  own  discredit, 
therefore,  and  considerably  to  the  detriment  of  my 
official  conscience,  they  continued,  during  my  incum- 
bency, to  creep  about  the  wharves,  and  loiter  up  and 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  15 

down  the  Custom -House  steps.  They  spent  a  good 
deal  of  time,  also,  asleep  in  their  accustomed  corners, 
with  their  chairs  tilted  back  against  the  wall ;  awaking, 
however,  once  or  twice  in  a  forenoon,  to  bore  one 
another  with  the  several  thousandth  repetition  of  old 
sea-stories,  and  mouldy  jokes,  that  had  grown  to  be 
pass-words  and  countersigns  among  them. 

The  discovery  was  soon  made,  I  imagine,  that  the 
new  Surveyor  had  no  great  harm  in  him.  So,  with 
lightsome  hearts,  and  the  happy  consciousness  of  being 
usefully  employed,  —  in  their  own  behalf,  at  least,  if 
not  for  our  beloved  country,  —  these  good  old  gentlemen 
went  through  the  various  formalities  of  office.  Saga- 
ciously, under  their  spectacles,  did  they  peep  into  the 
holds  of  vessels  !  Mighty  was  their  fuss  about  little 
matters,  and  marvellous,  sometimes,  the  obtuseness  that 
allowed  greater  ones  to  slip  between  their  fingers ! 
Whenever  such  a  mischance  occurred,  —  when  a  wagon- 
load  of  valuable  merchandise  had  been  smuggled  ashore, 
at  noonday,  perhaps,  and  directly  beneath  their  unsus- 
picious noses,  —  nothing  could  exceed  the  vigilance  and 
alacrity  with  which  they  proceeded  to  lock,  and  double- 
lock,  and  secure  with  tape  and  sealing-wax,  all  the 
avenues  of  the  delinquent  vessel.  Instead  of  a  repri- 
mand for  their  previous  negligence,  the  case  seemed 
rather  to  require  an  eulogium  on  their  praiseworthy 
caution,  after  the  mischief  had  happened;  a  grateful 
recognition  of  the  promptitude  of  their  zeal,  the  moment 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  remedy. 

Unless  people  are  more  than  commonly  disagreeable, 
it  is  my  foolish  habit  to  contract  a  kindness  for  them. 
The  better  part  of  my  companion's  character,  if  it  have 


16  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

a  better  part,  is  that  which  usually  conies  uppermost 
in  my  regard,  and  forms  the  type  whereby  I  recognize 
the  man.  As  most  of  these  old  Custom-House  officers 
had  good  traits,  and  as  my  position  in  reference  to  them, 
being  paternal  and  protective,  was  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  friendly  sentiments,  I  soon  grew  to  like  them 
all.  It  was  pleasant,  in  the  summer  forenoons,  —  when 
the  fervent  heat,  that  almost  liquefied  the  rest  of  the 
human  family,  merely  communicated  a  genial  warmth 
to  their  half-torpid  systems,  —  it  was  pleasant  to  hear 
them  chatting  in  the  back  entry,  a  row  of  them  all 
tipped  against  the  wall,  as  usual;  while  the  frozen  wit- 
ticisms of  past  generations  were  thawed  out,  and  came 
bubbling  with  laughter  from  their  lips.  Externally,  the 
jollity  of  aged  men  has  much  in  common  with  the  mirth 
of  children  ;  the  intellect,  any  more  than  a  deep  sense 
of  humor,  has  little  to  do  with  the  matter;  it  is,  with 
both,  a  gleam  that  plays  upon  the  surface,  and  imparts  a 
sunny  and  cheery  aspect  alike  to  the  green  branch,  and 
gray,  mouldering  trunk.  In  one  case,  however,  it  is 
real  sunshine  ;  in  the  other,  it  more  resembles  the  phos- 
phorescent glow  of  decaying  wood. 

It  would  be  sad  injustice,  the  reader  must  understand, 
to  represent  all  my  excellent  old  friends  as  in  their 
dotage.  In  the  first  place,  my  coadjutors  were  not 
invariably  old;  there  were  men  among  them  in  theii 
strength  and  prime,  of  marked  ability  and  energy,  and 
altogether  superior  to  the  sluggish  and  dependent  mode 
of  life  on  which  their  evil  stars  had  cast  them.  Then, 
moreover,  the  white  locks  of  age  were  sometimes  found 
to  be  the  thatch  of  an  intellectual  tenement  in  good 
repair.  But,  as  respects  the  majority  of  my  corps  of 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  ]  . 

veterans,  there  will  be  no  wrong  done,  if  I  characterize 
them  generally  as  a  set  of  wearisome  old  souls,  who  had 
gathered  nothing  worth  preservation  from  their  varied 
experience  of  life.  They  seemed  to  have  flung  away  all 
the  golden  grain  of  practical  wisdom,  -which  they  had 
enjoyed  so  many  opportunities  of  harvesting,  and  most 
carefully  to  have  stored  their  memories  with  the  husks. 
They  spoke  with  far  more  interest  and  unction  of  their 
morning's  breakfast,  or  yesterday's,  to-day's,  or  to-mor- 
row's dinner,  than  of  the  shipwreck  of  forty  or  fifty 
years  ago,  and  all  the  world's  wonders  which  they  had 
witnessed  with  their  youthful  eyes. 

The  father  of  the  Custom-House  —  the  patriarch,  not 
only  of  this  little  squad  of  officials,  but,  I  am  bold  to  say, 
of  the  respectable  body  of  tide-waiters  all  over  the 
United  States  —  was  a  certain  permanent  Inspector. 
He  might  truly  be  termed  a  legitimate  son  of  the 
revenue  system,  dyed  in  the  wool,  or,  rather,  born  in  the 
purple;  since  his  sire,  a  Revolutionary  colonel,  and 
formerly  collector  of  the  port,  had  created  an  office  for 
him,  and  appointed  him  to  fill  it,  at  a  period  of  the  early 
ages  which  few  living  men  can  now  remember.  This 
Inspector,  when  I  first  knew  him,  was  a  man  of  four- 
score years,  or  thereabouts,  and  certainly  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  specimens  of  winter-green  that  you 
would  be  likely  to  discover  in  a  lifetime's -search.  With 
his  florid  cheek,  his  compact  figure,  smartly  arrayed  in 
a  bright-buttoned  blue  coat,  his  brisk  and  vigorous  step, 
and  his  hale  and  hearty  aspect,  altogether  he  seemed  — 
not  young,  indeed  —  but  a  kind  of  new  contrivance  of 
Mother  Nature  in  the  shape  of  man,  whom  age  and 
infirmity  had  no  business  to  touch.  His  voice  and 
2 


IB  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

laugh,  which  perpetually  reechoed  through  the  Custoin- 
House,  had  nothing  of  the  tremulous  quaver  and  cackle 
of  an  old  man's  utterance ;  they  came  strutting  out  of 
his  lungs,  like  the  crow  of  a  cock,  or  the  blast  of  a 
clarion.  Looking  at  him  merely  as  an  animal,  —  and 
there  was  very  little  else  to  look  at,  —  he  was  a  m^st 
satisfactory  object,  from  the  thorough  healthfulness  and 
wholesomeness  of  his  system,  and  his  capacity,  at  that 
extreme  age,  to  enjoy  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  delights 
which  he  had  ever  aimed  at,  or  conceived  of.  The 
careless  security  of  his  life  in  the  Custom-House,  on  a 
regular  income,  and  with  but  slight  and  infrequent 
apprehensions  of  removal,  had  no  doubt  contributed  to 
make  time  pass  lightly  over  him.  The  original  and 
more  potent  causes,  however,  lay  in  the  rare  perfection 
of  his  animal  nature,  the  moderate  proportion  of  intel- 
lect, and  the  very  trifling  admixture  of  moral  and 
spiritual  ingredients ;  these  latter  qualities,  indeed, 
being  in  barely  enough  measure  to  keep  the  old  gentle- 
man from  walking  on  all-fours.  He  possessed  no  power 
of  thought,  no  depth  of  feeling,  no  troublesome  sensibil- 
ities ;  nothing,  in  short,  but  a  few  commonplace  instincts, 
which,  aided  by  the  cheerful  temper  that  grew  inevitably 
out  of  his  physical  well-being,  did  duty  very  respectably, 
and  to  general  acceptance,  in  lieu  of  a  heart.  He  had 
been  the  husband  of  three  wives,  all  long  since  dead ; 
the  father  of  twenty  children,  most  of  whom,  at  every 
age  of  childhood  or  maturity,  had  likewise  returned  to 
dust.  Here,  one  would  suppose,  might  have  been  sor- 
row enough  to  imbue  the  sunniest  disposition,  through 
and  through,  with  a  sable  tinge.  Not  so  with  our  old 
Inspector !  One  brief  sigh  sufficed  to  carry  off  the  entire 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  19 

burden  of  these  dismal  reminiscences.  The  next  mo- 
ment, he  was  as  ready  for  sport  as  any  unbreeched 
infant;  far  readier  than  the  Collector's  junior  clerk,  who, 
at  nineteen  years,  was  much  the  elder  and  graver  man 
of  the  two. 

I  used  to  watch  and  study  this  patriarchal  personage 
with,  I  think,  livelier  curiosity,  than  any  other  form  ot 
humanity  there  presented  to  my  notice.  He  was,  in 
truth,  a  rare  phenomenon ;  so  perfect,  in  one  point  of 
view;  so  shallow,  so  delusive,  so  impalpable,  such  an 
absolute  nonentity,  in  every  other.  My  conclusion  was 
that  he  had  no  soul,  no  heart,  no  mind ;  nothing,  as  I 
have  already  said,  but  instincts :  and  yet,  withal,  so 
cunningly  had  the  few  materials  of  his  character  been 
put  together,  that  there  was  no  painful  perception  of 
deficiency,  but,  on  my  part,  an  entire  contentment  with 
what  I  found  in  him.  It  might  be  difficult  —  and  it 
was  so  —  to  conceive  how  he  should  exist  hereafter,  so 
earthly  and  sensuous  did  he  seem ;  but  surely  his  exist- 
ence here,  admitting  that  it  was  to  terminate  with  his 
last  breath,  had  been  not  unkindly  given;  with  no 
higher  moral  responsibilities  than  the  beasts  of  the  field, 
but  with  a  larger  scope  of  enjoyment  than  theirs,  and 
with  all  their  blessed  immunity  from  the  dreariness  and 
duskiness  of  age. 

One  point,  in  which  he  had  vastly  the  advantage  over 
his  four-footed  brethren,  was  his  ability  to  recollect  the 
good  dinners  which  it  had  made  no  small  portion  of  the 
happiness  of  his  life  to  eat.  His  gourmandism  was  a 
highly  agreeable  trait;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  roast- 
meat  was  as  appetizing  as  a  pickle  or  an  oyster.  As 
he  possessed  no  higher  attribute,  and  neither  sacrificed 


20  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

nor  vitiated  any  spiritual  endowment  by  devoting  all 
his  energies  and  ingenuities  to  subserve  the  delight  and 
profit  of  his  maw,  it  always  pleased  and  satisfied  me  to 
hear  him  expatiate  on  fish,  poultry,  and  butcher's  meat, 
and  the  most  eligible  methods  of  preparing  them  for 
the  table.  His  reminiscences  of  good  cheer,  however 
ancient  the  date  of  the  actual  banquet,  seemed  to  bring 
the  savor  of  pig  or  turkey  under  one's  very  nostrils. 
There  were  flavors  on  his  palate,  that  had  lingered 
there  not  less  than  sixty  or  seventy  years,  and  were  still 
apparently  as  fresh  as  that  of  the  mutton-chop  which  he 
had  just  devoured  for  his  breakfast.  I  have  heard  him 
smack  his  lips  over  dinners,  every  guest  at  which, 
except  himself,  had  long  been  food  for  worms.  It  was 
marvellous  to  observe  how  the  ghosts  of  bygone  meals 
'were  continually  rising  up  before  him;  not  in  anger  or 
retribution,  but  as  if  grateful  for  his  former  appreciation, 
and  seeking  to  repudiate  an  endless  series  of  enjoyment, 
at  once  shadowy  and  sensual.  A  tender-loin  of  beef,  a 
hind-quarter  of  veal,  a  spare-rib  of  pork,  a  particular 
chicken,  or  a  remarkably  praiseworthy  turkey,  which 
had  perhaps  adorned  his  board  in  the  days  of  the  elder 
Adams,  would  be  remembered ;  while  all  the  subsequent 
experience  of  our  race,  and  all  the  events  that  bright- 
ened or  darkened  his  individual  career,  had  gone  over 
him  with  as  little  permanent  effect  as  the  passing 
breeze.  The  chief  tragic  event  of  the  old  man's  life,  so 
far  as  I  could  judge,  was  his  mishap  with  a  certain 
goose,  which  lived  and  died  some  twenty  or  forty  years 
ago;  a  goose  of  most  promising  figure,  but  which,  at 
table,  proved  so  inveterately  tough  that  the  carving-knife 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  21 

would  make  no  impression  on  its  carcass,  and  it  could 
only  be  divided  with  an  axe  and  handsaw. 

But  it  is  time  to  quit  this  sketch ;  on  which,  however, 
I  should  be  glad  to  dwell  at  considerably  more  length, 
because,  of  all  men  whom  I  have  ever  known,  this  indi- 
vidual was  fittest  to  be  a  Custom-House  officer.  Most 
persons,  owing  to  causes  which  I  may  not  have  space  to 
nint  at,  suffer  moral  detriment  from  this  peculiar  mode 
of  life.  The  old  Inspector  was  incapable  of  it;  and, 
were  he  to  continue  in  office  to  the  end  of  time,  would 
be  just  as  good  as  he  was  then,  and  sit  down  to  dinner 
with  just  as  good  an  appetite. 

There  is  one  likeness,  without  which  my  gallery  of 
Custom-House  portraits  would  be  strangely  incomplete ; 
but  which  my  comparatively  few  opportunities  for  obser- 
vation enable  me  to  sketch  only  in  the  merest  outline. 
It  is  that  of  the  Collector,  our  gallant  old  General,  who, 
after  his  brilliant  military  service,  subsequently  to  which 
he  had  ruled  over  a  wild  Western  territory,  had  come 
hither,  twenty  years  before,  to  spend  the  decline  of  his 
varied  and  honorable  life.  The  brave  soldier  had  already 
numbered,  nearly  or  quite,  his  threescore  years  and  ten, 
and  was  pursuing  the  remainder  of  his  earthly  march, 
burdened  with  infirmities  which  even  the  martial  music 
of  his  own  spirit-stirring  recollections  could  do  little 
towards  lightening.  The  step  was  palsied  now,  that 
had  been  foremost  in  the  charge.  It  was  only  with  the 
assistance  of  a  servant,  and  by  leaning  his  hand  heavily 
on  the  iron  balustrade,  that  he  could  slowly  and  pain- 
fully ascend  the  Custom-House  steps,  and,  with  a  toil- 
some progress  across  the  floor,  attain  his  customary  chair 
beside  the  fireplace.  There  he  used  to  sit,  gazing  with 


22  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

a  somewhat  dim  serenity  of  aspect  at  the  figures  that 
came  and  went ;  amid  the  rustle  of  papers,  the  adminis- 
tering of  oaths,  the  discussion  of  business,  and  the  casual 
talk  of  the  office  ;  all  which  sounds  and  circumstances 
seemed  but  indistinctly  to  impress  his  senses,  and  hardly 
to  make  their  way  into  his  inner  sphere  of  contempla- 
tion. His  countenance,  in  this  repose,  was  mild  and 
kindly.  If  his  notice  was  sought,  an  expression  of  cour- 
tesy and  interest  gleamed  out  upon  his  features  ;  prov- 
ing that  there  was  light  within  him.  and  that  it  was  only 
the  outward  medium  of  the  intellectual  lamp  that  ob- 
structed the  rays  in  their  passage.  The  closer  you  pen- 
etrated to  the  substance  of  his  mind,  the  sounder  it 
appeared.  When  no  longer  called  upon  to  speak,  or 
listen,  either  of  which  operations  cost  him  an  evident 
effort,  his  face  would  briefly  subside  into  its  former  not 
uncheerful  quietude.  It  was  not  painful  to  behold  this 
look ;  for,  though  dim,  it  had  riot  the  imbecility  of  de- 
caying age.  The  framework  of  his  nature,  originally 
strong  and  massive,  was  not  yet  crumbled  into  ruin. 

To  observe  and  define  his  character,  however,  under 
such  disadvantages,  was  as  difficult  a  task  as  to  traco 
out  and  build  up  anew,  in  imagination,  an  old  fortress, 
like  Ticonderoga,  from  a  view  of  its  gray  and  broken 
ruins.  Here  and  there,  perchance,  the  walls  may  remain 
almost  complete  ,  but  elsewhere  may  be  only  a  shape- 
less mound,  cumbrous  with  its  very  strength,  and  over- 
grown, through  long  years  of  peace  and  neglect,  with 
grass  and  alien  weeds. 

Nevertheless,  looking  at  the  old  warrior  with  affec- 
tion, —  for,  slight  as  was  the  communication  between 
us,  my  feeling  towards  him,  like  that  of  all  bipeds  and 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  23 

quadrupeds  who  knew  him,  might  not  improperly  be 
termed  so,  —  I  could  discern  the  main  points  of  his 
portrait.  It  was  marked  with  the  noble  and  heroic 
qualities  which  showed  it  to  be  not  by  a  mere  accident, 
but  of  good  right,  that  he  had  won  a  distinguished  name. 
His  spirit  could  never,  I  conceive,  have  been  character- 
ized by  an  uneasy  activity  ;  it  must,  at  any  period  of  his 
life,  have  required  an  impulse  to  set  him  in  motion ; 
but,  once  stirred  u]  ,  with  obstacles  to  overcome,  and  an 
adequate  object  to  be  attained,  it  was  not  in  the  man  to 
give  out  or  fail.  The  heat  that  had  formerly  pervaded 
his  nature,  and  which  was  not  yet  extinct,  was  never  of 
the  kind  that  flashes  and  flickers  in  a  blaze  ;  but,  rather, 
a  deep,  red  glow,  as  of  iron  in  a  furnace.  Weight,  solid- 
ity, firmness  ;  this  was  the  expression  of  his  repose,  even 
in  such  decay  as  had  crept  untimely  over  him,  at  the 
period  of  which  I  speak.  But  I  could  imagine,  even 
then,  that,  under  some  excitement  which  should  go 
deeply  into  his  consciousness,  —  roused  by  a  trumpet- 
peal,  loud  enough  to  awaken  all  of  his  energies  that  were 
not  dead,  but  only  slumbering,  — he  was  yet  capable  of 
flinging  off  his  infirmities  like  a  sick  man's  gown,  drop- 
ping the  staff  of  age  to  seize  a  battle-sword,  and  starting 
up  once  more  a  warrior.  And,  in  so  intense  a  moment, 
his  demeanor  would  have  still  been  calm.  Such  an  ex- 
hibition, however,  was  but  to  be  pictured  in  fancy ;  not 
to  be  anticipated,  nor  desired.  What  I  saw  in  him  — 
as  evidently  as  the  indestructible  ramparts  of  Old  Ticon- 
deroga,  already  cited  as  the  most  appropriate  simile  — 
were  the  features  of  stubborn  and  ponderous  endurance, 
which  might  well  have  amounted  to  obstinacy  in  his 
earlier  days;  of  integrity,  that,  like  most  of  his  other 


24  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

endowments,  lay  in  a  somewhat  heavy  mass,  and  was 
just  as  unmalleable  and  unmanageable  as  a  ton  of  iron 
ore ;  and  of  benevolence,  which,  fiercely  as  he  led  the 
bayonets  on  at  Chippewa  or  Fort  Erie,  I  take  to  be  of 
quite  as  genuine  a  stamp  as  what  actuates  any  or  all  the 
polemical  philanthropists  of  the  age.  He  had  slain  men 
with  his  own  hand,  for  aught  I  know ;  —  certainly,  they 
had  fallen,  like  blades  of  grass  at  the  sweep  of  the 
scythe,  before  the  charge  to  which  his  spirit  imparted  its 
triumphant  energy  ;  —  but,  be  that  as  it  might,  there 
was  never  in  his  heart  so  much  cruelty  as  would  have 
brushed  the  down  off  a  butterfly's  wing.  I  have  not 
known  the  man,  to  whose  innate  kindliness  I  would 
more  confidently  make  an  appeal. 

Many  characteristics — and  those,  too,  which  contrib- 
ute not  the  least  forcibly  to  impart  resemblance  in  a  sketch 
—  must  have  vanished,  or  been  obscured,  before  I  met 
the  General.  All  merely  graceful  attributes  are  usually 
the  most  evanescent ;  nor  does  Nature  adorn  the  human 
ruin  with  blossoms  of  new  beauty,  that  have  their  roots 
and  proper  nutriment  only  in  the  chinks  and  crevices  of 
decay,  as  she  sows  wall-flowers  over  the  ruined  fortress 
of  Ticonderoga.  Still,  even  in  respect  of  grace  and 
beauty,  there  were  points  well  worth  noting.  A  ray  of 
humor,  now  and  then,  would  make  its  way  through  the 
veil  of  dim  obstruction,  and  glimmer  pleasantly  upon 
our  faces.  A  trait  of  native  elegance,  seldom  seen  in  the 
masculine  character  after  childhood  or  early  youth,  was 
shown  in  the  General's  fondness  for  the  sight  and  fra- 
grance of  flowers.  An  old  soldier  might  be  supposed  to 
prize  only  the  bloody  laurel  on  his  brow ;  but  here  was 


.     • 
THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  25 


one,  who  seemed  to  have  a  young  girl's  appreciation  of 
the  floral  tribe. 

There,  beside  the  fireplace,  the  brave  old  Genera! 
used  to  sit ;  while  the  Surveyor  —  though  seldom,  when 
it  could  be  avoided,  taking  upon  himself  the  difficult  task 
of  engaging  him  in  conversation  —  was  fond  of  standing 
at  a  distance,  and  watching  his  quiet  and  almost  slum- 
berous countenance.  He  seemed  away  from  us,  although 
we  saw  him  but  a  few  yards  off;  remote,  though  we 
passed  close  beside  his  chair ;  unattainable,  though  we 
might  have  stretched  forth  our  hands  and  touched  his 
own.  It  might  be  that  he  lived  a  more  real  life  within 
his  thoughts,  than  amid  the  unappropriate  environment 
of  the  Collector's  office.  The  evolutions  of  the  parade  ; 
the  tumult  of  the  battle  ;  the  flourish  of  old,  heroic  mu- 
sic, heard  thirty  years  before  ;  —  such  scenes  and  sounds, 
perhaps,  were  all  alive  before  his  intellectual  sense. 
Meanwhile,  the  merchants  and  ship-masters,  the  spruce 
clerks  and  uncouth  sailors,  entered  and  departed ;  the 
bustle  of  this  commercial  and  Custom-House  life  kept 
up  its  little  murmur  round  about  him  ;  and  neither  with 
the  men  nor  their  affairs  did  the  General  appear  to  sus- 
tain the  most  distant  relation.  He  was  as  much  out  of 
place  as  an  old  sword  —  now  rusty,  but  which  had 
flashed  once  in  the  battle's  front,  and  showed  still  a 
bright  gleam  along  its  blade  —  would  have  been,  among 
the  inkstands,  paper-folders,  and  mahogany  rulers,  on 
the  Deputy  Collector's  desk. 

There  was  one  thing  that  much  aided  me  in  renew- 
ing- and  re-creating  the  stalwart  soldier  of  the  Niagara 
frontier,  — the  man  of  true  and  simple  energy.  It  was 
the  recollection  of  those  memorable  words  of  his,  — 


26  THL    SCARLET    LETTER 

"  I  '11  try,  Sir  !  "  —  spoken  on  the  very  verge  of  a  des- 
perate and  heroic  enterprise,  and  breathing  the  soul  and 
spirit  of  New  England  hardihood,  comprehending  all 
perils,  and  encountering  all.  If,  in  our  country,  valor 
were  rewarded  by  heraldic  honor,  this  phrase  —  which 
it  seems  so  easy  to  speak,  but  which  only  he,  with  such 
a  task  of  danger  and  glory  before  him,  has  ever  spoken 
—  would  be  the  best  and  fit  test  of  all  mottoes  for  the 
General's  shield  of  arms. 

It  contributes  greatly  towards  a  man's  moral  and  intel- 
lectual health,  to  be  brought  into  habits  of  companion- 
ship with  individuals  unlike  himself,  who  care  little  for 
his  pursuits,  and  whose  sphere  and  abilities  he  must  go 
out  of  himself  to  appreciate.  The  accidents  of  my  life 
have  often  afforded  me  this  advantage,  but  never  with 
more  fulness  and  variety  than  during  my  continuance  in 
office.  There  was  one  man,  especially,  the  observation 
of  whose  character  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  talent.  His 
gifts  were  emphatically  those  of  a  man  of  business ; 
prompt,  acute,  clear-minded;  with  an  eye  that  saw 
through  all  perplexities,  and  a  faculty  of  arrangement 
that  made  them  vanish,  as  by  the  waving  of  an  enchant- 
er's wand.  Bred  up  from  boyhood  in  the  Custom-House, 
it  was  his  proper  field  of  activity ;  and  the  many  intri- 
cacies of  business,  so  harassing  to  the  interloper,  pre- 
sented themselves  before  him  with  the  regularity  of  a 
perfectly  comprehended  system.  In  my  contemplation, 
he  stood  as  the  ideal  of  his  class.  He  was,  indeed,  the 
Custom-House  in  himself;  or,  at  all  events,  the  main 
spring  that  kept  its  variously  revolving  wheels  in  mo- 
tion; for,  in  an  institution  like  this,  where  its  officers  are 
appointed  to  subserve  their  own  profit  and  convenience, 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  27 

and  seldom  with  a  leading  reference  to  their  fitness  for 
the  duty  to  be  performed,  they  must  perforce  seek  else- 
where the  dexterity  which  is  not  in  them.  Thus,  by  an 
inevitable  necessity,  as  a  magnet  attracts  steel -filings,  so 
did  our  man  of  business  draw  to  himself  the  difficulties 
which  everybody  met  with.  With  an  easy  condescen* 
sion,  and  kind  forbearance  towards  our  stupidity, — 
which,  to  his  order  of  mind,  must  have  seemed  little 
short  of  crime,  —  would  he  forthwith,  by  the  merest 
touch  of  his  finger,  make  the  incomprehensible  as  clear 
as  daylight.  The  merchants  valued  him  not  less  than 
we,  his  esoteric  friends.  His  integrity  was  perfect ;  it 
was  a  law  of  nature  with  him,  rather  than  a  choice  or  a 
principle  ;  nor  can  it  be  otherwise  than  the  main  con- 
dition of  an  intellect  so  remarkably  clear  and  accurate  as 
his,  to  be  honest  and  regular  in  the  administration  of 
affairs.  A  stain  on  his  conscience,  as  to  anything  that 
came  within  the  range  of  his  vocation,  would  trouble 
such  a  man  very  much  in  the  fame  way,  though  to  a  far 
greater  degree,  than  an  error  in  the  balance  of  an  ac- 
count, or  an  ink-blot  on  the  fair  page  of  a  book  of  record. 
Here,  in  a  word,  —  and  it  is  a  rare  instance  in  my  life,  — 
I  had  met  with  a  person  thoroughly  adapted  to  the  situ- 
ation which  he  held. 

Such  were  some  of  the  people  with  whom  I  now 
found  myself  connected.  I  took  it  in  good  part,  at  the 
hands  of  Providence,  that  I  was  thrown  into  a  position 
so  little  akin  to  my  past  habits ;  and  set  myself  seriously 
to  gather  from  it  whatever  profit  was  to  be  had.  After 
my  fellowship  of  toil  and  impracticable  schemes  with 
the  dreamy  brethren  of  Brook  Farm ;  after  living  for 
three  years  within  the  subtile  influence  of  an  intellect 


28  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

like  Emerson's;  after  those  wild,  free  days  on  the  Assa- 
beth,  indulging  fantastic  speculations,  beside  our  fire  of 
fallen  boughs,  with  Ellery  Channing ;  after  talking  with 
Thoreau  about  pine-trees  and  Indian  relics,  in  his  her- 
mitage at  Walden  ;  after  growing  fastidious  by  sympathy 
with  the  classic  refinement  of  Hillard's  culture  ;  after 
becoming  imbued  with  poetic  sentiment  at  Longfellow's 
hearth-stone;  —  it  was  time,  at  length,  that  I  should 
exercise  other  faculties  of  my  nature,  and  nourish  myself 
with  food  for  which  I  had  hitherto  had  little  appetite. 
Even  the  old  Inspector  was  desirable,  as  a  change  of 
diet,  to  a  man  who  had  known  Alcott.  I  looked  upon  it 
as  an  evidence,  in  some  measure,  of  a  system  naturally 
well  balanced,  and  lacking  no  essential  part  of  a  thorough 
organization,  that,  with  such  associates  to  remember,  I 
could  mingle  at  once  with  men  of  altogether  different 
qualities,  and  never  murmur  at  the  change. 

Literature,  its  exertions  and  objects,  were  now  of  little 
moment  in  my  regard.  I  cared  not,  at  this  period,  for 
books ;  they  were  apart  from  me.  Nature,  —  except  it 
were  human  nature,  —  the  nature  that  is  developed  ia 
«arth  and  sky,  was,  in  one  sense,  hidden  from  me  ;  and 
all  the  imaginative  delight,  wherewith  it  had  been  spirit- 
ualized, passed  away  out  of  my  mind.  A  gift,  a  faculty, 
if  it  had  not  departed,  was  suspended  and  inanimate 
within  me.  There  would  have  been  something  sad, 
unutterably  dreary,  in  all  this,  had  I  not  been  conscious 
that  it  lay  at  my  own  option  to  recall  whatever  was  val- 
uable in  the  past.  It  might  be  true,  indeed,  that  this 
was  a  life  which  could  not,  with  impunity,  be  lived  too 
long ;  else,  it  might  make  me  permanently  other  than  I 
had  been,  without  transforming  me  into  any  shape  which. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  29 

it  would  be  worth  my  while  to  take.  But  I  never  con- 
sidered it  as  other  than  a  transitory  life.  There  was 
always  a  prophetic  instinct,  a  low  whisper  in  my  ear, 
that,  within  no  long  period,  and  whenever  a  new  change 
of  custom  should  be  essential  to  my  good,  a  change 
would  come. 

Meanwhile,  there  I  was,  a  Surveyor  of  the  Revenue, 
and,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  understand,  as  good  a 
Surveyor  as  need  be.  A  man  of  thought,  fancy,  and 
sensibility,  (had  he  ten  times  the  Surveyor's  proportion 
of  those  qualities,)  may,  at  any  time,  be  a  man  of  affairs, 
if  he  will  only  choose  to  give  himself  the  trouble.  My 
fellow-officers,  and  the  merchants  and  sea-captains  with 
whom  my  official  duties  brought  me  into  any  manner  of 
connection,  viewed  me  in  no  other  light,  and  probably 
knew  me  in  no  other  character.  None  of  them,  I  pre- 
sume, had  ever  read  a  page  of  my  inditing,  or  would 
have  cared  a  fig  the  more  for  me,  if  they  had  read  them 
all ;  nor  would  it  have  mended  the  matter,  in  the  least, 
had  those  same  unprofitable  pages  been  written  with  a 
pen  like  that  of  Burns  or  of  Chaucer,  each  of  whom  was 
a  Custom-House  officer  in  his  day,  as  well  as  I.  It  is  a 
good  lesson  —  though  it  may  often  be  a  hard  one  —  for 
a  man  who  has  dreamed  of  literary  fame,  and  of  making 
for  himself  a  rank  among  the  world's  dignitaries  by  such 
means,  to  step  aside  out  of  the  narrow  circle  in  which 
his  claims  are  recognized,  and  to  find  how  utterly  devoid 
of  significance,  beyond  that  circle,  is  all  that  he  achieves, 
and  all  he  aims  at.  I  know  not  that  I  especially  needed 
the  lesson,  either  in  the  way  of  warning  or  rebuke  ;  but, 
at  any  rate,  I  learned  it  thoroughly :  nor,  it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  reflect,  did  the  truth,  as  it  came  home  to  my 


30  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

perception,  ever  cost  me  a  pang,  or  require  to  be  thrown 
off  in  a  sigh.  In  the  way  of  literary  talk,  it  is  true,  the 
Naval  Officer  —  an  excellent  fellow,  who  came  into  office 
with  me  and  went  out  only  a  little  later  —  would  often 
engage  me  in  a  discussion  about  one  or  the  other  of  his 
favorite  topics,  Napoleon  or  Shakspeare.  The  Collector's 
junior  clerk,  too,  —  a  young  gentleman  who,  it  was  whis- 
pered, occasionally  covered  a  sheet  of  Uncle  Sam's  letter- 
paper  with  what  (at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards)  looked 
very  much  like  poetry,  —  used  now  and  then  to  speak  to 
me  of  books,  as  matters  with  which  I  might  possibly  be 
conversant.  This  was  my  all  of  lettered  intercourse ; 
and  it  was  quite  sufficient  for  my  necessities. 

No  longer  seeking  nor  caring  that  my  name  should 
be  blazoned  abroad  on  title-pages,  I  smiled  to  think  that 
it  had  now  another  kind  of  vogue.  The  Custom-House 
marker  imprinted  it,  with  a  stencil  and  black  paint,  on 
pepper-bags,  and  baskets  of  anatto,  and  cigar-boxes,  and 
bales  of  all  kinds  of  dutiable  merchandise,  in  testimony 
that  these  commodities  had  paid  the  impost,  and  gone 
regularly  through  the  office.  Borne  on  such  queer  vehi- 
cle of  fame,  a  knowledge  of  my  existence,  so  far  as  a 
name  conveys  it,  was  carried  where  it  had  never  been 
before,  and,  I  hope,  will  never  go  again. 

But  the  past  was  not  dead.  Once  in  a  great  while, 
the  thoughts,  that  had  seemed  so  vital  and  so  active,  yet 
had  been  put  to  rest  so  quietly,  revived  again.  One  of 
the  most  remarkable  occasions,  when  the  habit  of  by- 
gone days  awoke  in  me,  was  that  which  brings  it  within 
the  law  of  literary  propriety  to  offer  the  public  the  sketch 
which  I  am  now  writing. 

In  the  second  story  of  the  Custom-House,  there  is  a 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  31 

large  room,  in  which  the  brick-work  and  naked  rafters 
have  never  been  covered  with  panelling1  and  plaster. 
The  edifice  —  originally  projected  on  a  scale  adapted  to 
the  old  commercial  enterprise  of  the  port,  and  with  an 
idea  of  subsequent  prosperity  destined  never  to  be  real- 
ized —  contains  far  more  space  than  its  occupants  know 
what  to  do  with.  This  airy  hall,  therefore,  over  the 
Collector's  apartments,  remains  unfinished  to  this  day> 
and,  in  spite  of  the  aged  cobwebs  that  festoon  its  dusky 
beams,  appears  still  to  await  the  labor  of  the  carpenter 
and  mason.  At  one  end  of  the  room,  in  a  recess,  were 
a  number  of  barrels,  piled  one  upon  another,  containing 
bundles  of  official  documents.  Large  quantities  of  sim- 
ilar rubbish  lay  lumbering  the  floor.  It  was  sorrowful 
to  think  how  many  days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  and 
years  of  toil,  had  been  wasted  on  these  musty  papers, 
which  were  now  only  an  encumbrance  on  earth,  and 
were  hidden  away  in  this  forgotten  corner,  never  more 
to  be  glanced  at  by  human  eyes.  But,  then,  what  reams 
of  other  manuscripts  —  filled  not  with  the  dulness  of  offi- 
cial formalities,  but  with  the  thought  of  inventive  brains 
and  the  rich  effusion  of  deep  hearts  —  had  gone  equally 
to  oblivion ;  and  that,  moreover,  without  serving  a  pur- 
pose in  their  day,  as  these  heaped-up  papers  had,  and  — 
saddest  of  all  —  without  purchasing  for  their  writers  the 
comfortable  livelihood  which  the  clerks  of  the  Custom- 
House  had  gained  by  these  worthless  scratchings  of  the 
pen !  Yet  not  altogether  worthless,  perhaps,  as  mate- 
rials of  local  history.  Here,  no  doubt,  statistics  of  the 
former  commerce  of  Salem  might  be  discovered,  and 
memorials  of  her  princely  merchants,  —  old  King  Derby, 
—  old  Billy  Gray,  —  old  Simon  Forrester,  —  and  many 


32  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

another  magnate  in  his  day;  whose  powdered  head, 
however,  was  scarcely  in  the  tomb,  before  his  mountain- 
pile  of  wealth  began  to  dwindle.  The  founders  of  the 
greater  part  of  the  families  which  now  compose  the  aris- 
tocracy of  Salem  might  here  be  traced,  from  the  petty 
and  obscure  beginnings  of  their  traffic,  at  periods  gener- 
ally much  posterior  to  the  Revolution,  upward  to  what 
their  children  look  upon  as  long-established  rank. 

Prior  to  the  Revolution,  there  is  a  dearth  of  records ; 
the  earlier  documents  and  archives  of  the  Custom-House 
having,  probably,  been  carried  off  to  Halifax,  when  all 
the  King's  officials  accompanied  the  British  army  in  its 
flight  from  Boston.  It  has  often  been  a  matter  of  regret 
with  me ;  for,  going  back,  perhaps,  to  the  days  of  the 
Protectorate,  those  papers  must  have  contained  many 
references  to  forgotten  or  remembered  men,  and  to  an- 
tique customs,  which  would  have  affected  me  with  the 
same  pleasure  as  when  I  used  to  pick  up  Indian  arrow- 
heads in  the  field  near  the  Old  Manse. 

But,  one  idle  and  rainy  day,  it  was  my  fortune  to 
make  a  discovery  of  some  little  interest.  Poking  and 
burrowing  into  the  heaped-up  rubbish  in  the  corner; 
unfolding  one  and  another  document,  and  reading  the 
names  of  vessels  that  had  long  ago  foundered  at  sea  or 
rotted  at  the  wharves,  and  those  of  merchants,  never 
heard  of  now  on  'Change,  nor  very  readily  decipherable 
on  their  mossy  tomb-stones ;  glancing  at  such  matters 
with  the  saddened,  weary,  half-reluctant  interest  which 
we  bestow  on  the  corpse  of  dead  activity,  —  and  exerting 
my  fancy,  sluggish  with  little  use,  to  raise  up  from  these 
dry  bones  an  image  of  the  old  town's  brighter  aspect, 
when  India  was  a  new  region,  and  only  Salem  knew 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  33 

the  way  thither,  —  I  chanced  to  lay  my  hand  on  a  small 
package,  carefully  done  up  in  a  piece  of  ancient  yellow 
parchment.  This  envelope  had  the  air  of  an  official 
record  of  some  period  long  past,  when  clerks  engrossed 
their  stiff  and  formal  chirography  on  more  substantial 
materials  than  at  present.  There  was  something  about 
it  that  quickened  an  instinctive  curiosity,  and  made  me 
undo  the  faded  red  tape,  that  tied  up  the  package,  with 
the  sense  that  a  treasure  would  here  be  brought  to  light. 
Unbending  the  rigid  folds  of  the  parchment  cover,  1  found 
it  to  be  a  commission,  under  the  hand  and  seal  of  Gov- 
ernor Shirley,  in  favor  of  one  Jonathan  Pue,  as  Surveyor 
of  his  Majesty's  Customs  for  the  port  of  Salem,  in  the 
Province  of  Massachusetts  .Bay.  I  remembered  to  have 
read  (probably  in  Felt's  Annals)  a  notice  of  the  decease 
of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  about  fourscore  years  ago;  and 
likewise,  in  a  newspaper  of  recent  times,  an  account  of 
the  digging  up  of  his  remains  in  the  little  grave-yard  of 
St.  Peter's  Church,  during  the  renewal  of  that  edifice. 
Nothing,  if  1  rightly  call  to  mind,  was  left  of  my  respected 
predecessor,  save  an  imperfect  skeleton,  and  some  frag- 
ments of  apparel,  and  a  wig  of  majestic  frizzle ;  which, 
unlike  the  head  that  it  once  adorned,  was  in  very  satis- 
factory preservation.  But,  on  examining  the  papers 
which  the  parchment  commission  served  to  envelop,  I 
found  more  traces  of  Mr.  Pue's  mental  part,  and  the  in- 
ternal operations  of  his  head,  than  the  frizzled  wig  had 
contained  of  the  venerable  skull  itself. 

They  were  documents,  in  short,  not  official,  but  of  a 

private  nature,  or,  at  least,  written  in  his  private  capacity, 

and  apparently  with  his  own  hand.     I  could  account  for 

their  being  included  in  the  heap  of  Custom-House  lumber 

3 


34  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

only  by  the  fact,  that  Mr.  Pue'  death  had  happened  sud- 
denly; and  that  these  papers,  which  he  probably  kept  in 
his  official  desk,  had  never  come  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
heirs,  or  were  supposed  to  relate  to  the  business  of  the 
revenue.  On  the  transfer  of  the  archives  to  Halifax,  this 
package,  proving  to  be  of  no  public  concern,  was  left 
behind,  and  had  remained  ever  since  unopened. 

The  ancient  Surveyor  —  being  little  molested,  I  sup- 
pose, at  that  early  day,  with  business  pertaining  to  his 
office  —  seems  to  have  devoted  some  of  his  many  leisure 
hours  to  researches  as  a  local  antiquarian,  and  other 
inquisitions  of  a  similar  nature.  These  supplied  material 
for  petty  activity  to  a  mind  that  would  otherwise  have 
been  eaten  up  with  rust.  A  portion  of  his  facts,  by  the 
by,  did  me  good  service  in  the  preparation  of  the  article 
entitled  "  MAIN  STREET,"  included  in  the  present  volume. 
The  remainder  may  perhaps  be  applied  to  purposes 
equally  valuable,  hereafter;  or  not  impossibly  may  be 
worked  up,  so  far  as  they  go,  into  a  regular  history  of 
Salem,  should  my  veneration  for  the  natal  soil  ever  impel 
me  to  so  pious  a  task.  Meanwhile,  they  shall  be  at  the 
command  of  any  gentleman,  inclined,  and  competent,  to 
take  the  unprofitable  labor  off  my  hands.  As  a  final 
disposition,  I  contemplate  depositing  them  with  the  Essex 
Historical  Society. 

But  the  object  that  most  drew  my  attention,  in  the 
mysterious  package,  was  a  certain  affair  of  fine  red  cloth, 
much  worn  and  faded.  There  were  traces  about  it  of 
gold  embroidery,  which,  however,  was  greatly  frayed  and 
defaced  ;  so  that  none,  or  very  little,  of  the  glitter  was 
left.  It  had  boen  wrought,  as  was  easy  to  perceive,  with 
wonderful  skill  of  needlework ;  and  the  stitch  (as  I  am 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  35 

assured  by  ladies  conversant  with  such  mysteries)  gives 
evidence  of  a  now  forgotten  art,  not  to  be  recovered  even 
by  the  process  of  picking  out  the  threads.  This  rag  of 
scarlet  cloth,  —  for  time,  and  wear,  and  a  sacrilegious 
moth,  had  reduced  it  to  little  other  than  a  rag,  • —  on  care- 
ful examination,  assumed  the  shape  of  a  letter.  It  was 
the  capital  letter  A.  By  an  accurate  measurement,  each 
limb  proved  to  be  precisely  three  inches  and  a  quarter  in 
length.  It  had  been  intended,  there  could  be  no  doubt, 
as  an  ornamental  article  of  dress  ;  but  how  it  was  to  be 
worn,  or  what  rank,  honor,  and  dignity,  in  by-past  times, 
were  signified  by  it,  was  a  riddle  which  (so  evanescent  are 
the  fashions  of  the  world  in  these  particulars)  I  saw  little 
hope  of  solving.  And  yet  it  strangely  interested  me. 
My  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  the  old  scarlet  letter, 
and  would  not  be  turned  aside.  Certainly,  there  was 
some  deep  meaning  in  it,  most  worthy  of  interpretation, 
and  which,  as  it  were,  streamed  forth  from  the  mystic 
symbol,  subtly  communicating  itself  to  my  sensibilities, 
but  evading  the  analysis  of  my  mind. 

While  thus  perplexed,  —  and  cogitating,  among  other 
hypotheses,  whether  the  letter  might  not  have  been  one 
of  those  decorations  which  the  white  men  used  to  con- 
trive, in  order  to  take  the  eyes  of  Indians,  —  I  happened 
to  place  it  on  rny  breast.  It  seemed  to  me,  —  the  reader 
may  smile,  but  must  not  doubt  my  word,  —  it  seemed  to 
me,  then,  that  I  experienced  a  sensation  not  altogether 
physical,  yet  almost  so,  as  of  burning  heat ;  and  as  if  the 
letter  were  not  of  red  cloth,  but  red-hot  iron.  I  shud* 
dered,  and  involuntarily  let  it  fall  upon  the  floor. 

In  the  absorbing  contemplation  of  the  scarlet  letter,  I 
had  hitherto  neglected  to  examine  a  small  roll  of  dingy 


36  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

paper,  around  which  it  had  been  twisted.  This  I  now 
opened,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find,  recorded  by  the  old 
Surveyor's  pen,  a  reasonably  complete  explanation  of  the 
whole  affair.  There  were  several  foolscap  sheets,  contain- 
ing many  particulars  respecting  the  life  and  conversation 
of  one  Hester  Prynne,  who  appeared  to  have  been  rather 
a  noteworthy  personage  in  the  view  of  our  ancestors. 
She  had  flourished  during  the  period  between  the  early 
days  of  Massachusetts  and  the  close  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Aged  persons,  alive  in  the  time  of  Mr.  Sur- 
veyor Pue,  and  from  whose  oral  testimony  he  had  made 
up  his  narrative,  remembered  her,  in  their  youth,  as  a 
very  old,  but  not  decrepit  woman,  of  a  stately  and  solemn 
aspect.  It  had  been  her  habit,  from  an  almost  immemo- 
rial date,  to  go  about  the  country  as  a  kind  of  volun- 
tary nurse,  and  doing  whatever  miscellaneous  good  she 
might ;  taking  upon  herself,  likewise,  to  give  advice  in 
all  matters,  especially  those  of  the  heart ;  by  which  means, 
as  a  person  of  such  propensities  inevitably  must,  she 
gained  from  many  people  the  reverence  due  to  an  angel, 
but,  I  should  imagine,  was  looked  upon  by  others  as  an 
intruder  and  a  nuisance.  Prying  further  into  the  manu- 
script, I  found  the  record  of  other  doings  and  sufferings 
of  this  singular  woman,  for  most  of  which  the  reader  is 
referred  to  the  story  entitled  "  THE  SCARLET  LETTER  "  ; 
and  it  should  be  borne  carefully  in  mind,  that  the  main 
facts  of  that  story  are  authorized  and  authenticated  by 
the  document  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue.  The  original  papers, 
together  with  the  scarlet  letter  itself,  —  a  most  curious 
relic,  —  are  still  in  my  possession,  and  shall  be  freely 
exhibited  to  whomsoever,  induced  by  the  great  interest 
of  the  narrative,  may  desire  a  sight  of  them.  I  must 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  37 

not  be  understood  as  affirming,  that,  in  the  dressing  up 
of  the  tale,  and  imagining  the  motives  and  modes  of  pas- 
sion that  influenced  the  characters  who  figure  in  it,  I 
have  invariably  confined  myself  within  the  limits  of  the 
old  Surveyor's  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  foolscap.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  allowed  myself,  as  to  such  points,  nearly 
or  altogether  as  much  license  as  if  the  facts  had  been 
entirely  of  my  own  invention.  What  I  contend  for  is 
the  authenticity  of  the  outline. 

This  incident  recalled  my  mind,  in  some  degree,  to  its 
old  track.  There  seemed  to  be  here  the  ground-work  of 
a  tale.  It  impressed  me  as  if  the  ancient  Surveyor,  in 
his  garb  of  a  hundred  years  gone  by,  and  wearing  his 
immortal  wig,  —  which  was  buried  with  him,  but  did  not 
perish  in  the  grave,  —  had  met  me  in  the  deserted  cham- 
ber of  the  Custom-House.  In  his  port  was  the  dignity 
of  one  who  had  borne  his  Majesty's  commission,  and  who 
was  therefore  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  the  splendor  that 
shone  so  dazzlingly  about  the  throne.  How  unlike,  alas  ( 
the  hang-dog  look  of  a  republican  official,  who,  as  the 
servant  of  the  people,  feels  himself  less  than  the  least, 
and  below  the  lowest,  of  his  masters.  With  his  own 
ghostly  hand,  the  obscurely  seen  but  majestic  figure  had 
imparted  to  me  the  scarlet  symbol,  and  the  little  roll  of 
explanatory  manuscript.  With  his  own  ghostly  voice, 
he  had  exhorted  me,  on  the  sacred  consideration  of  my 
filial  duty  and  reverence  towards  him,  —  who  might  rea- 
sonably regard  himself  as  my  official  ancestor,  —  to  bring 
his  mouldy  and  moth-eaten  lucubrations  before  the  public. 
"  Do  this,"  said  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  emphati- 
cally nodding  the  head  that  looked  so  imposing  within 
its  memorable  wig,  "  do  this,  and  the  profit  shall  be  all 


38  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

your  own !  You  will  shortly  need  it ;  for  it  is  not  in 
your  days  as  it  was  in  mine,  when  a  man's  office  was  a 
life-lease,  and  oftentimes  an  heirloom.  But,  I  charge 
you,  in  this  matter  of  old  Mistress  Prynne,  give  to  your 
predecessor's  memory  the  credit  which  will  be  rightfully 
due  !  "  And  I  said  to  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  — 
"  I  will !  " 

On  Hester  Prynne 's  story,  therefore,  I  bestowed  much 
thought.  It  was  the  subject  of  my  meditations  for  many 
an  hour,  while  pacing  to  and  fro  across  my  room,  or  trav- 
ersing, with  a  hundred-fold  repetition,  the  long  extent 
from  the  front-door  of  the  Custom-House  to  the  side- 
entrance,  and  back  again.  Great  were  the  weariness  and 
annoyance  of  the  old  Inspector  and  the  Weighers  and 
Gaugers,  whose  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  the  unmer- 
cifully lengthened  tramp  of  my  passing  and  returning 
footsteps.  Remembering  their  own  former  habits,  they 
used  to  say  that  the  Surveyor  was  walking  the  quarter- 
deck. They  probably  fancied  that  my  sole  object  —  and, 
indeed,  the  sole  object  for  which  a  sane  man  could  ever 
put  himself  into  voluntary  motion  —  was,  to  get  an  appe- 
tite for  dinner.  And  to  say  the  truth,  an  appetite,  sharp- 
ened by  the  east  wind  that  generally  blew  along  the  pas- 
sage, was  the  only  valuable  result  of  so  much  indefati- 
gable exercise.  So  little  adapted  is  the  atmosphere  of  a 
Custom-House  to  the  delicate  harvest  of  fancy  and  sensi- 
bility, that,  had  I  remained  there  through  ten  Presiden- 
cies yet  to  come,  I  doubt  whether  the  tale  of  "The 
Scarlet  Letter  "  would  ever  have  been  brought  before  the 
public  eye.  My  imagination  was  a  tarnished  mirror.  It 
would  not  reflect,  or  only  with  miserable  dimness,  the 
figures  -with  which  I  did  my  best  to  people  it.  The 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  39 

characters  of  the  narrative  would  not  be  warmed  and 
rendered  malleable  by  any  heat  that  I  could  kindle  at  my 
intellectual  forge.  They  would  take  neither  the  glow  of 
passion  nor  the  tenderness  of  sentiment,  but  retained  all 
the  rigidity  of  dead  corpses,  and  stared -me  in  the  face 
with  a  fixed  and  ghastly  grin  of  contemptuous  defiance. 
"  What  have  you  to  do  with  us  ? "  that  expression  seemed 
to  say.  "  The  little,  power  you  might  once  have 
possessed  over  the  tribe  of  unrealities  is  gone !  You 
have  bartered  it  for  a  pittance  of  the  public  gold.  Go, 
then,  and  earn  your  wages  !  "  In  short,  the  almost  torpid 
creatures  of  my  own  fancy  twitted  me  with  imbecility, 
and  not  without  fair  occasion. 

It  was  not  merely  during  the  three  hours  and  a  half 
which  Uncle  Sam  claimed  as  his  share  of  my  daily  life, 
that  this  wretched  numbness  held  possession  of  me.  It 
Went  with  me  on  my  sea-shore  walks,  and  rambles  into 
the  country,  whenever  —  wThich  was  seldom  and  reluct- 
antly —  I  bestirred  myself  to  seek  that  invigorating  charm 
of  Nature,  which  used  to  give  me  such  freshness  and  ac- 
tivity of  thought,  the  moment  that  I  stepped  across  the 
threshold  of  the  Old  Manse.  The  same  torpor,  as  re- 
garded the  capacity  for  intellectual  effort,  accompanied 
me  home,  and  weighed  upon  me  in  the  chamber  which  I 
most  absurdly  termed  my  study.  Nor  did  it  quit  me, 
when,  late  at  night,  I  sat  in  the  deserted  parlor,  lighted 
only  by  the  glimmering  coal-fire  and  the  moon,  striving 
to  picture  forth  imaginary  scenes,  which,  the  next  day, 
might  flow  out  on  the  brightening  page  in  many-hued 
description. 

If  the  imaginative  faculty  refused  to  act  at  such  an 
hour,  it  might  well  be  deemed  a  hopeless  case.  Moon 


40  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

light,  in  a  familiar  room,  falling  so  white  upon  the  carpet, 
and  showing  all  its  figures  so  distinctly,  —  making  every 
object  so  minutely  visible,  yet  so  unlike  a  morning  or 
noontide  visibility,  —  is  a  medium  the  most  suitable  for 
a  romance-writer  to  get  acquainted  with  his  illusive 
guests.  There  is  the  little  domestic  scenery  of  the  well- 
known  apartment ;  the  chairs,  with  each  its  separate  indi- 
viduality ;  the  centre-table,  sustaining  a  work-basket,  a 
volume  or  two,  and  an  extinguished  lamp ;  the  sofa  ;  the 
book-case ;  the  picture  on  the  wall ;  —  all  these  details, 
so  completely  seen,  are  so  spiritualized  by  the  unusual 
light,  that  they  seem  to  lose  their  actual  substance,  and 
become  things  of  intellect.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too 
trifling  to  undergo  this  change,  and  acquire  dignity  there- 
by. A  child's  shoe  ;  the  doll,  seated  in  her  little  wicker 
carriage  ;  the  hobby-horse  ;  —  whatever,  in  a  word,  has 
been  used  or  played  with,  during  the  day,  is  now  invested 
with  a  quality  of  strangeness  and  remoteness,  though 
still  almost  as  vividly  present  as  by  daylight.  Thus, 
therefore,  the  floor  of  our  familiar  room  has  become  a 
neutral  territory,  somewhere  between  the  real  world  and 
fairy-land,  where  the  Actual  and  the  Imaginary  may 
meet,  and  each  imbue  itself  with  the  nature  of  the  other. 
Ghosts  might  enter  here,  without  affrighting  us.  It 
would  be  too  much  in  keeping  with  the  scene  to  excite 
surprise,  were  we  to  look  about  us  and  discover  a  form, 
beloved,  but  gone  hence,  now  sitting  quietly  in  a  streak  of 
this  magic  moonshine,  with  an  aspect  that  would  make 
us  doubt  whether  it  had  returned  from  afar,  or  had  never 
once  stirred  from  our  fireside. 

The  somewhat  dim  coal-fire  has  an  essential  influence 
in  producing  the  effect  which  I  would  describe.     It  throws 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  4l 

its  unobtrusive  tinge  throughout  the  room,  .vith  a  faint 
ruddiness  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling,  and  a  reflected 
gleam  from  the  polish  of  the  furniture.  This  warmer 
light  mingles  itself  with  the  cold  spirituality  of  the  moon- 
beams, and  communicates,  as  it  were,  a  heart  and  sensi- 
bilities of  human  tenderness  to  the  forms  which  fancy 
summons  up.  It  converts  them  from  snow-images  into 
men  and  women.  Glancing  at  the  looking-glass,  we 
behold  —  deep  within  its  haunted  verge  —  the  smoulder- 
ing glow  of  the  half-extinguished  anthracite,  the  white 
moonbeams  on  the  floor,  and  a  repetition  of  all  the  gleam 
and  shadow  of  the  picture,  with  one  remove  further  from 
the  actual,  and  nearer  to  the  imaginative.  Then,  at  such 
an  hour,  and  with  this  scene  before  him,  if  a  man,  sitting 
all  alone,  cannot  dream  strange  things,  and  make  them 
look  like  truth,  he  need  never  try  to  write  romances. 

But,  for  myself,  during  the  whole  of  my  Custom- 
House  experience,  moonlight  and  sunshine,  and  the  glow 
of  fire-light,  were  just  alike  in  my  regard ;  and  neither 
of  them  was  of  one  whit  more  avail  than  the  twinkle  of 
a  tallow-candle.  An  entire  class  of  susceptibilities,  and 
a  gift  connected  with  them,  —  of  no  great  richness  or 
value,  but  the  best  I  had,  —  was  gone  from  me. 

It  is  my  belief,  however,  that,  had  I  attempted  a  differ- 
ent order  of  composition,  my  faculties  would  not  have 
been  found  so  pointless  and  inefficacious.  I  might,  for 
instance,  have  contented  myself  with  writing  out  the 
narratives  of  a  veteran  shipmaster,  one  of  the  Inspectors, 
whon.  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  not  to  mention,  since 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  stir  me  to  laughter 
and  admiration  by  his  marvellous  gifts  as  a  story-teller. 
Could  I  have  preserved  the  picturesque  force  of  his  style, 


42  THE    SCARLET    LETTER, 

and  the  humorous  coloring  which  nature  taught  him 
how  to  throw  over  his  descriptions,  the  result,  I  honestly 
believe,  would  have  been  something  new  in  literature. 
Or  I  might  readily  have  found  a  more  serious  task.  It 
was  a  folly,  with  the  materiality  of  this  daily  life  press- 
ing so  intrusively  upon  me,  to  attempt  to  fling  myself 
back  into  another  age  ;  or  to  insist  on  creating  the  sem- 
blance of  a  world  out  of  airy  matter,  when,  at  every 
moment,  the  impalpable  beauty  of  my  soap-bubble  was 
broken  by  the  rude  contact  of  some  actual  circumstance. 
The  wiser  effort  would  have  been,  to  diffuse  thought 
and  imagination  through  the  opaque  substance  of  to-day, 
and  thus  to  make  it  a  bright  transparency;  to  spirit- 
ualize the  burden  that  began  to  weigh  so  heavily ;  to 
seek,  resolutely,  the  true  and  indestructible  value  that 
lay  hidden  in  the  petty  and  wearisome  incidents,  and 
ordinary  characters,  with  which  I  was  now  conversant. 
The  fault  was  mine.  The  page  of  life  that  was  spread 
out  before  me  seemed  dull  and  commonplace,  only  be- 
cause I  had  not  fathomed  its  deeper  import.  A  better 
book  than  I  shall  ever  write  was  there ;  leaf  after  leaf 
presenting  itself  to  me,  just  as  it  was  written  out  by  the 
reality  of  the  flitting  hour,  and  vanishing  as  fast  as 
written,  only  because  my  brain  wanted  the  insight  and 
my  hand  the  cunning  to  transcribe  it.  At  some  future 
day,  it  may  be,  I  shall  remember  a  few  scattered  frag- 
ments and  broken  paragraphs,  and  write  them  down,  and 
find  the  letters  turn  to  gold  upon  the  page. 

These  perceptions  have  come  too  late.  At  the  in- 
stant, I  was  only  conscious  that  what  would  have  been 
a  pleasure  once  was  now  a  .hopeless  toil.  There  was 
no  occasion  to  make  much  moan  about  this  state  of 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  43 

affairs.  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  writer  of  tolerably  poor 
tales  and  essays,  and  had  become  a  tolerably  good  Sur- 
veyor of  the  Customs.  That  was  all.  But,  neverthe- 
less, it  is  anything  but  agreeable  to  be  haunted  by  a 
suspicion  that  one's  intellect  is  dwindling  away;  or 
exhaling,  without  your  consciousness,  like  ether  out  of 
a  phial;  so  that,  at  every  glance,  you  find  a  smaller 
and  less  volatile  residuum.  Of  the  fact,  there  could  be 
no  doubt ;  and,  examining  myself  and  others,  I  was  led 
to  conclusions,  in  reference  to  the  effect  of  public  office 
on  the  character,  not  very  favorable  to  the  mode  of  life 
in  question.  In  some  other  form,  perhaps,  I  may  here- 
after develop  these  effects.  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  that 
a  Custom-House  officer,  of  long  continuance,  can  hardly 
be  a  very  praiseworthy  or  respectable  personage,  for 
many  reasons;  one  of  them,  the  tenure  by  which  he 
holds  his  situation,  and  another,  the  very  nature  of  his 
business,  which — though,  I  trust,  an  honest  one  —  is  of 
such  a  sort  that  he  does  not  share  in  the  united  effort  of 
mankind. 

An  effect  —  which  I  believe  to  be  observable,  more  01 
less,  in  every  individual  who  has  occupied  the  position 
—  is,  that,  while  he  leans  on  the  mighty  arm  of  the 
Republic,  his  own  proper  strength  departs  from  him. 
He  loses,  in  an  extent  proportioned  to  the  weakness  01 
force  of  his  original  nature,  the  capability  of  self-support. 
If  he  possess  an  unusual  share  of  native  energy,  or  the 
enervating  magic  of  place  do  not  operate  too  long  upon 
him,  his  forfeited  powers  may  be  redeemable.  The 
ejected  officer  —  fortunate  in  the  unkindly  shove  that 
sends  him  forth  betimes,  to  struggle  amid  a  struggling 
world  —  may  return  to  himself,  and  become  all  that  he 


44  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

has  ever  been.  But  this  seldom  happens  He  usually 
keeps  his  ground  just  long  enough  for  his  own  ruin,  and 
is  then  thrust  out,  with  sinews  all  unstrung,  to  totter 
along  the  difficult  footpath  of  life  as  he  best  may. 
Conscious  of  his  own  infirmity,  —  that  his  tempered 
steel  and  elasticity  are  lost,  —  he  forever  afterwards 
looks  wistfully  about  him  in  quest  of  support  external  to 
himself.  His  pervading  and  continual  hope  —  a  hallu- 
cination, which,  in  the  face  of  all  discouragement,  and 
making  light  of  impossibilities,  haunts  him  while  he 
lives,  and,  I  fancy,  like  the  convulsive  throes  of  the 
cholera,  torments  him  for  a  brief  space  after  death  —  is, 
that  finally,  and  in  no  long  time,  by  some  happy  coin- 
cidence of  circumstances,  he  shall  be  restored  to  office. 
This  faith,  more  than  anything  else,  steals  the  pith  and 
availability  out  of  whatever  enterprise  he  may  dream  of 
undertaking.  Why  should  he  toil  and  moil,  and  be  at 
so  much  trouble  to  pick  himself  up  out  of  the  mud, 
when,  in  a  little  while  hence,  the  strong  arm  of  his 
Uncle  will  raise  and  support  him?  Why  should  he 
work  for  his  living  here,  or  go  to  dig  gold  in  California, 
when  he  is  so  soon  to  be  made  happy,  at  monthly  inter- 
vals, with  a  little  pile  of  glittering  coin  out  of  his  Uncle's 
pocket  ?  It  is  sadly  curious  to  observe  how  slight  a 
taste  of  office  suffices  to  infect  a  poor  fellow  with  this 
singular  disease.  Uncle  Sam's  gold  —  meaning  no  dis- 
respect to  the  worthy  old  gentleman  —  has,  in  this 
respect,  a  quality  of  enchantment  like  that  of  the  Devil's 
wages.  Whoever  touches  it  should  look  well  to  him- 
self, or  he  may  find  the  bargain  to  go  hard  against  him, 
involving,  if  not  his  soul,  yet  many  of  its  better  attri- 
butes; its  sturdy  force,  its  courage  and  constancy,  its 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  45 

truth,  its  self-reliance,  and  all  that  gives  the  emphasis  to 
manly  character. 

Here  was  a  fine  prospect  in  the  distance !  Not  that 
the  Surveyor  brought  the  lesson  home  to  himself,  or 
admitted  that  he  could  be  so  utterly  undone,  either  by 
continuance  in  office,  or  ejectment.  Yet  my  reflections 
were  not  the  most  comfortable.  I  began  to  grow  mel- 
ancholy and  restless;  continually  prying  into  my  mind, 
to  discover  which  of  its  poor  properties  were  gone, 
and  what  degree  of  detriment  had  already  accrued  to  the 
remainder.  I  endeavored  to  calculate  how  much  longer 
I  could  stay  in  the  Custom-House,  and  yet  go  forth  a 
man.  To  confess  the  truth,  it  was  my  greatest  appre- 
hension,—  as  it  would  never  be  a  measure  of  policy  to 
turn  out  so  quiet  an  individual  as  myself,  and  it  being 
hardly  in  the  nature  of  a  public  officer  to  resign,  —  it 
was  my  chief  trouble,  therefore,  that  I  was  likely  to  grow 
gray  and  decrepit  in  the  Surveyorship,  and  become 
much  such  another  animal  as  the  old  Inspector.  Might 
it  not,  in  the  tedious  lapse  of  official  life  that  lay  before 
me,  finally  be  with  me  as  it  was  with  this  venerable 
friend,  —  to  make  the  dinner-hour  the  nucleus  of  the 
day,  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  it,  as  an  old  dog  spends  it, 
asleep  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the  shade  ?  A  dreary  look- 
forward  this,  for  a  man  who  felt  it  to  be  the  best  defini- 
tion of  happiness  to  live  throughout  the  whole  range  of 
his  faculties  and  sensibilities !  But,  all  this  while,  I 
was  giving  myself  very  unnecessary  alarm.  Providence 
had  meditated  better  things  for  me  than  I  could  possibly 
imagine  for  myself. 

A  remarkable  event  of  the  third  year  of  my  Surveyor- 
ship —  to  adopt  the  tone  of  "P.  P."  —  was  the  election 


46  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  General  Taylor  to  the  Presidency.  It  is  essential,  in 
order  to  a  complete  estimate  of  the  advantages  of  official 
life,  to  view  the  incumbent  at  the  in-coming  of  a  hostile 
administration.  His  position  is  then  one  of  the  most 
singularly  irksome,  and,  in  every  contingency,  disagree- 
able, that  a  wretched  mortal  can  possibly  occupy;  with 
seldom  an  alternative  of  good,  on  either  hand,  although 
what  presents  itself  to  him  as  the  worst  event  may  very 
probably  be  the  -best.  But  it  is  a  strange  experience,  to 
a  man  of  pride  and  sensibility,  to  know  that  his  interests 
are  within  the  control  of  individuals  who  neither  love  nor 
understand  him,  and  by  whom,  since  one  or  the  other 
must  needs  happen,  he  would  rather  be  injured  than 
obliged.  Strange,  too,  for  one  who  has  kept  his  calm- 
ness throughout  the  contest,  to  observe  the  bloodthirsti- 
ness  that  is  developed  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  and  to  be 
conscious  that  he  is  himself  among  its  objects !  There 
are  few  uglier  traits  of  human  nature  than  this  tendency 
—  which  I  now  witnessed  in  men  no  worse  than  their 
neighbors  —  to  grow  cruel,  merely  because  they  pos- 
sessed the  power  of  inflicting  harm.  If  the  guillotine, 
as  applied  to  office-holders,  were  a  literal  fact,  instead 
of  one  of  the  most  apt  of  metaphors,  it  is  my  sincere 
belief,  that  the  active  members  of  the  victorious  party 
were  sufficiently  excited  to  have  chopped  off  all  our 
heads,  and  have  thanked  Heaven  for  the  opportunity ! 
It  appears  to  me  —  who  have  been  a  calm  and  curious 
observer,  as  well  in  victory  as  defeat  —  that  this  fierce 
and  bitter  spirit  of  malice  and  revenge  has  never  distin- 
guished the  many  triumphs  of  my  own  party  as  it  now  did 
that  of  the  Whigs.  The  Democrats  take  the  offices,  as 
a  general  rule,  because  they  need  them,  and  because  the 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  4*7 

practice  of  many  years  has  made  it  the  law  of  political 
warfare,  which,  unless  a  different  system  be  proclaimed, 
it  were  weakness  and  cowardice  to  murmur  at.  But  the 
long  habit  of  victory  has  made  them  generous.  They 
know  how  to  spare,  when  they  see  occasion  ;  and  when 
they  strike,  the  axe  may  be  sharp,  indeed,  but  its  edge  is 
seldom  poisoned  with  ill-will ;  nor  is  it  their  custom  igno- 
miniously  to  kick  the  head  which  they  have  just  struck 
off. 

In  short,  unpleasant  as  was  my  predicament,  at  best, 
I  saw  much  reason  to  congratulate  myself  that  I  was  on 
the  losing  side,  rather  than  the  triumphant  one.  If, 
heretofore,  I  had  been  none  of  the  warmest  of  parti- 
sans, I  began  now,  at  this  season  of  peril  and  adversity, 
to  be  pretty  acutely  sensible  with  which  party  my  predi- 
lections lay ;  nor  was  it  without  something  like  regret 
and  shame,  that,  according  to  a  reasonable  calculation 
of  chances,  I  saw  my  own  prospect  of  retaining  office 
to  be  better  than  those  of  my  Democratic  brethren.  But 
who  can  see  an  inch  into  futurity,  beyond  his  nose  ?  My 
own  head  was  the  first  that  fell ! 

The  moment  when  a  man's  head  drops  off  is  seldom 
or  never,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  precisely  the  most 
agreeable  of  his  life.  Nevertheless,  like  the  greater 
part  of  our  misfortunes,  even  so  serious  a  contingency 
brings  its  remedy  and  consolation  with  it,  if  the  sufferer 
will  but  make  the  best,  rather  than  the  worst,  of  the 
accident  which  has  befallen  him.  In  my  particular 
case,  the  consolatory  topics  were  close  at  hand,  and, 
indeed,  had  suggested  themselves  to  my  meditations  a 
considerable  time  before  it  was  requisite  to  use  them. 
In  view  of  my  previous  weariness  of  office,  and  vague 


48  THE    SCARLET    LETTER 

thoughts  of  resignation,  my  fortune  somewhat  resembled 
that  of  a  person  who  should  entertain  an  idea  of  com- 
mitting suicide,  and,  although  beyond  his  hopes,  meet 
with  the  good  hap  to  be  murdered.  In  the  Custom-House, 
as  before  in  the  Old  Manse,  I  had  spent  three  years  ;  a 
term  long  enough  to  rest  a  weary  brain ;  long  enough  to 
break  off  old  intellectual  habits,  and  make  room  for  new 
ones ;  long  enough,  and  too  long,  to  have  lived  in  an  un- 
natural state,  doing  what  was  really  of  no  advantage  nor 
delight  to  any  human  being,  and  withholding  myself 
from  toil  that  would,  at  least,  have  stilled  an  unquiet  im- 
pulse in  me.  Then,  moreover,  as  regarded  his  uncer- 
emonious ejectment,  the  late  Surveyor  was  not  altogether 
ill-pleased  to  be  recognized  by  the  Whigs  as  an  enemy ; 
since  his  inactivity  in  political  affairs,  —  his  tendency  to 
roam,  at  will,  in  that  broad  and  quiet  field  where  all 
mankind  may  meet,  rather  than  confine  himself  to  those 
narrow  paths  where  brethren  of  the  same  household 
must  diverge  from  one  another,  —  had  sometimes  made 
it  questionable  with  his  brother  Democrats  whether  he 
was  a  friend.  Now,  after  he  had  won  the  crown  of  mar- 
tyrdom, (though  with  no  longer  a  head  to  wear  it  on,) 
the  point  might  be  looked  upon  as  settled.  Finally,  lit- 
tle heroic  as  he  was,  it  seemed  more  decorous  to  be  over- 
thrown in  the  downfall  of  the  party  with  which  he  had 
been  content  to  stand,  than  to  remain  a  forlorn  survivor, 
when  so  many  worthier  men  were  falling ;  and,  at  last, 
after  subsisting  for  four  years  on  the  mercy  of  a  hostile 
administration,  to  be  compelled  then  to  define  his  position 
anew,  and  claim  the  yet  more  humiliating  mercy  of  a 
friendly  one. 

Meanwhile  the  press  had  taken  up  my  affair,  and  kept 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  49 


me,  for  a  week  or  two,  careering  through  the 
prints,  in  my  decapitated  state,  like  Irving's  Headless 
Horseman;  ghastly  and  grim,  and  longing  to  be  buried, 
as  a  politically  dead  man  ought.  So  much  for  my  figu- 
rative self.  The  real  human  being,  all  this  time,  with  his 
head  safely  on  his  shoulders,  had  brought  himself  to  the 
comfortable  conclusion  that  everything  was  for  the  best ; 
and,  making  an  investment  in  ink,  paper,  and  steel-pens, 
had  opened  his  long-disused  writing-desk,  and  was  again 
a  literary  man. 

Now  it  was,  that  the  lucubrations  of  my  ancient  pred- 
ecessor, Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  came  into  play.  Rusty 
through  long  idleness,  some  little  space  was  requisite 
before  my  intellectual  machinery  could  be  brought  to 
work  upon  the  tale,  with  an  effect  in  any  degree  satis- 
factory. Even  yet,  though  my  thoughts  were  ultimately 
much  absorbed  in  the  task,  it  wears,  to  my  eye,  a  stern 
and  sombre  aspect ;  too  much  ungladdened  by  genial 
sunshine ;  too  little  relieved  by  the  tender  and  familiar 
influences  which  soften  almost  every  scene  of  nature  and 
real  life,  and,  undoubtedly,  should  soften  every  picture 
of  them.  This  uncaptivating  effect  is  perhaps  due  to  the 
period  of  hardly  accomplished  revolution,  and  still  seeth- 
ing turmoil,  in  which  the  story  shaped  itself.  It  is  no 
indication,  however,  of  a  lack  of  cheerfulness  in  the 
writer's  mind ;  for  he  was  happier,  while  straying 
through  the  gloom  of  these  sunless  fantasies,  than  at 
any  time  since  he  had  quitted  the  Old  Manse.  Some 
of  the  briefer  articles,  which  contribute  to  make  up  the 
volume,  have  likewise  been  written  since  my  involuntary 
withdrawal  from  the  toils  and  honors  of  public  life,  and 
the  remainder  are  gleaned  from  annuals  and  magazines, 
4 


50  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  such  antique  date  that  they  have  gone  round  the  cir- 
cle, and  come  back  to  novelty  again/*  Keeping  up  the 
metaphor  of  the  political  guillotine,  the  whole  may  bft 
considered  as  the  POSTHUMOUS  PAPERS  OF  A  DECAPITATED 
SURVEYOR  ;  and  the  sketch  which  I  am  now  bringing  to 
a  close,  if  too  autobiographical  for  a  modest  person  to 
publish  in  his  lifetime,  will  readily  be  excused  in  a  gen* 
tleman  who  writes  from  beyond  the  grave.  Peace  be 
with  all  the  world  !  My  blessing  on  my  friends  !  My 
forgiveness  to  my  enemies  !  For  I  am  in  the  realm  of 
quiet ! 

The  life  of  the  Custom-House  lies  like  a  dream  behind 
me.  The  old  Inspector,  —  who,  by  the  by,  I  regret  to 
say,  was  overthrown  and  killed  by  a  horse,  some  time 
ago  ;  else  he  would  certainly  have  lived  forever,  —  he, 
and  all  those  other  venerable  personages  who  sat  with 
him  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  are  but  shadows  in  my 
view;  white-headed  and  wrinkled  images,  which  my 
fancy  used  to  sport  with,  and  has  now  flung  aside  for- 
ever. The  merchants,  —  Pingree,  Phillips,  Shepard,  Up- 
ton, Kimball,  Bertram,  Hunt,  —  these,  and  many  other 
names,  which  had  such  a  classic  familiarity  for  my  ear 
six  months  ago,  —  these  men  of  traffic,  who  seemed  to 
occupy  so  important  a  position  in  the  world,  —  how  lit- 
tle time  has  it  required  to  disconnect  me  from  them  all, 
not  merely  in  act,  but  recollection !  It  is  with  an 
effort  that  I  recall  the  figures  and  appellations  of  these 
few.  Soon,  likewise,  my  old  native  town  will  loom  upon 
me  through  the  haze  of  memory,  a  mist  brooding  over 

*  At  the  time  of  writing  this  article,  the  author  intended  to  publish, 
along  with  "The  Scarlet  Letter,"  several  shorter  tales  and  sketches. 
These  it  has  been  thought  advisable  to  defer. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  51 

and  around  it ;  as  if  it  were  no  portion  of  the  real  earth, 
but  an  overgrown  village  in  cloud-land,  with  only  imag- 
inary inhabitants  to  people  its  wooden  houses,  and  walk 
its  homely  lanes,  and  the  unpicturesque  prolixity  of  its 
main  street.  Henceforth,  it  ceases  to  be  a  reality  of  my 
life.  I  am  a  citizen  of  somewhere  else.  My  good 
townspeople  will  not  much  regret  me  ;  for  —  though  it 
has  been  as  dear  an  object  as  any,  in  my  literary  efforts, 
to  be  of  some  importance  in  their  eyes,  and  to  win  my- 
self a  pleasant  memory  in  this  abode  and  burial-place 
of  so  many  of  my  forefathers  —  there  has  never  been, 
for  me,  the  genial  atmosphere  which  a  literary  man 
requires,  in  order  to  ripen  the  best  harvest  of  his  mind. 
I  shall  do  better  amongst  other  faces  ;  and  these  familiar 
ones,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  will  do  just  as  well  without 
me. 

It  may  be,  however,  —  O,  transporting  and  triumphant 
thought !  —  that  the  great-grandchildren  of  the  present 
race  may  sometimes  think  kindly  of  the  scribbler  of  by- 
gone days,  when  the  antiquary  of  days  to  come,  among 
the  sites  memorable  in  the  town's  history,  shall  point 
out  the  locality  of  THE  TOWN  PUMP  ! 


THE   SCARLET  LETTER. 


I. 

THE  PRISON-DOOR. 

A  THRONG  of  bearded  men,  in  sad-colored  garments, 
and  gray,  steeple-crowned  hats,  intermixed  with  women, 
some  wearing  hoods,  and  others  bareheaded,  was  assem- 
bled in  front  of  a  wooden  edifice,  the  door  of  which 
was  heavily  timbered  with  oak,  and  studded  with  iron 
spikes. 

The  founders  of  a  new  colony,  whatever  Utopia  of 
human  virtue  and  happiness  they  might  originally  pro- 
ject, have  invariably  recognized  it  among  their  earliest 
practical  necessities  to  allot  a  portion  of  the  virgin  soil 
as  a  cemetery,  and  another  portion  as  the  site  of  a  prison. 
In  accordance  with  this  rule,  it  may  safely  be  assumed 
that  the  forefathers  of  Boston  had  built  the  first  prison- 
house  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cornhill,  almost  as 
seasonably  as  they  marked  out  the  first  burial-ground, 
on  Isaac  Johnson's  lot,  and  round  about  his  grave,  which 
subsequently  became  the  nucleus  of  all  the  congregated 
sepulchres  in  the  old  church-yard  of  King's  Chapel. 
Certain  it  is,  that,  some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  after  the 
settlement  of  the  town,  the  wooden  jail  was  already 
marked  with  weather-stains  and  other  indications  of  age 


54  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

which  gave  a  yet  darker  aspect  to  its  beetle-browed  and 
gloomy  front.  The  rust  on  the  ponderous  iron-work  of 
its  oaken  door  looked  more  antique  than  anything  else 
in  the  New  World.  Like  all  that  pertains  to  crime,  it 
seemed  never  to  have  known  a  youthful  era.  Before 
this  ugly  edifice,  and  between  it  and  the  wheel-track 
of  the  street,  was  a  grass-plot,  much  overgrown  with 
burdock,  pig-weed,  apple-peru,  and  such  unsightly  vege- 
tation, which  evidently  found  something  congenial  in 
the  soil  that  had  so  early  borne  the  black  flower  of  civ- 
ilized society,  a  prison.  But,  on  one  side  of  the  portal, 
and  rooted  almost  at  the  threshold,  was  a  wild  rose-bush, 
covered,  in  this  month  of  June,  with  its  delicate  gems, 
which  might  be  imagined  to  offer  their  fragrance  and 
fragile  beauty  to  the  prisoner  as  he  went  in,  and  to  the 
condemned  criminal  as  he  came  forth  to  his  doom,  in 
token  that  the  deep  heart  of  Nature  could  pity  and  be 
kind  to  him. 

This  rose-bush,  by  a  strange  chance,  has  been  kept 
alive  in  history  ;  but  whether  it  had  merely  survived  out 
of  the  stern  old  wilderness,  so  long  after  the  fall  of  the 
gigantic  pines  and  oaks  that  originally  overshadowed 
it,  —  or  whether,  as  there  is  fair  authority  for  believing, 
it  had  sprung  up  under  the  footsteps  of  the  sainted  Ann 
Hutchinson,  as  she  entered  the  prison-door,  —  we  shall 
net  take  upon  us  to  determine.  Finding  it  sc  directly 
on  the  threshold  of  our  narrative,  which  is  now  about  to 
issue  from  that  inauspicious  portal,  we  could  hardly  do 
otherwise  than  pluck  one  of  its  flowers,  and  present  it  to 
the  reader.  It  may  serve,  let  us  hope,  to  symbolize  some 
sweet  moral  blossom,  that  may  be  found  along  the  track, 
or  relieve  the  darkening  close  of  a  tale  of  human  frailty 
and  sorrow. 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  55 


II. 

THE   MARKET-PLACE. 

THE  grass-plot  before  the  jail,  in  Prison-lane,  on  a 
certain  summer  morning,  not  less  than  two  centuries 
ago,  was  occupied  by  a  pretty  large  number  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Boston ;  all  with  their  eyes  intently  fast- 
ened on  the  iron-clamped  oaken  door.  Amongst  any 
other  population,  or  at  a  later  period  in  the  history  of 
New  England,  the  grim  rigidity  that  petrified  the  bearded 
physiognomies  of  these  good  people  would  have  augured 
some  awful  business  in  hand.  It  could  have  betokened 
nothing  short  of  the  anticipated  execution  of  some  noted 
culprit,  on  whom  the  sentence  of  a  legal  tribunal  had  but 
confirmed  the  verdict  of  public  sentiment.  But,  in  that 
early  severity  of  the  Puritan  character,  an  inference  of 
this  kind  could  not  so  indubitably  be  drawn.  It  might 
be  that  a  sluggish  bond-servant,  or  an  undutiful  child, 
whom  his  parents  had  given  over  to  the  civil  authority, 
was  to  be  corrected  at  the  whipping-post.  It  might  be, 
that  an  Antinomian,  a  Quaker,  or  other  heterodox  relig- 
ionist, was  to  be  scourged  out  of  the  town,  or  an  idle  and 
vagrant  Indian,  whom  the  white  man's  fire-water  had 
made  riotous  about  the  streets,  was  to  be  driven  with 
stripes  into  the  shadow  of  the  forest.  It  might  be,  too, 
that  a  witch,  like  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  bitter- 
tempered  widow  of  the  magistrate,  was  to  die  upon  the 
gallows.  In  either  case,  there  was  very  much  the  same 
solemnity  of  demeanor  on  the  part  of  the  spectators ;  as 


56  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

befitted  a  people  amongst  whom  religion  and  law  were 
almost  identical,  and  in  whose  character  both  were  so 
thoroughly  interfused,  that  the  mildest  and  the  severest 
acts  of  public  discipline  were  alike  made  venerable  and 
awful.  Meagre,  indeed,  and  cold,  was  the  sympathy 
that  a  transgressor  might  look  for,  from  such  by- 
standers, at  the  scaffold.  On  the  other  hand,  a  penalty 
which,  in  our  days,  would  infer  a  degree  of  mocking 
infamy  and  ridicule,  might  then  be  invested  with 
almost  as  stern  a  dignity  as  the  punishment  of  death 
itself. 

It  was  a  circumstance  to  be  noted,  on  the  summer 
morning  when  our  story  begins  its  course,  that  the 
women,  of  whom  there  were  several  in  the  crowd, 
appeared  to  take  a  peculiar  interest  in  whatever  penal 
infliction  might  be  expected  to  ensue.  The  age  had 
not  so  much  refinement,  that  any  sense  of  impropriety 
restrained  the  wearers  of  petticoat  and  farthingale  from 
stepping  forth  into  the  public  ways,  and  wedging  their 
not  unsubstantial  persons,  if  occasion  were,  into  the 
throng  nearest  to  the  scaffold  at  an  execution.  Morally, 
as  well  as  materially,  there  was  a  coarser  fibre  in  those 
wives  and  maidens  of  old  English  birth  and  breeding, 
than  in  their  fair  descendants,  separated  from  them  by 
a  series  of  six  or  seven  generations;  for,  throughout 
that  chain  of  ancestry,  every  successive  mother  has 
transmitted  to  her  child  a  fainter  bloom,  a  more  delicate 
and  briefer  beauty,  and  a  slighter  physical  frame,  if  not 
a  character  of  less  force  and  solidity,  than  her  own. 
The  women  who  were  now  standing  about  the  prison- 
door  stood  within  less  than  half  a  century  of  the  period 
when  the  man-like  Elizabeth  had  been  the  not  alto- 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  57 

gether  unsuitable  representative  of  the  sex.  They  were 
her  countrywomen;  and  the  beef  and  ale  of  their  native 
land,  with  a  moral  diet  not  a  whit  more  refined,  entered 
largely  into  their  composition.  The  bright  morning 
sun,  therefore,  shone  on  broad  shoulders  and  well- 
developed  busts,  and  on  round  and  ruddy  cheeks,  that 
had  ripened  in  the  far-off  island,  and  had  hardly  yet 
grown  paler  or  thinner  in  the  atmosphere  of  New 
England.  There  was,  moreover,  a  boldness  and  rotund 
ity  of  speech  among  these  matrons,  as  most  of  them 
seemed  to  be,  that  would  startle  us  at  the  present  day, 
whether  in  respect  to  its  purport  or  its  volume  of 
tone. 

"  Goodwives,"  said  a  hard-featured  dame  of  fifty, 
"  I  '11  tell  ye  a  piece  of  my  mind.  It  would  be  greatly 
for  the  public  behoof,  if  we  women,  being  of  mature  age 
and  church-members  in  good  repute,  should  have  the 
handling  of  such  malefactresses  as  this  Hester  Prynne. 
What  think  ye,  gossips?  If  the  hussy  stood  up  for 
iudgment  before  us  five,  that  are  now  here  in  a  knot 
together,  would  she  come  off  with  such  a  sentence  as 
the  worshipful  magistrates  have  awarded?  Marry,  I 
trow  not ! " 

"  People  say,"  said  another,  "  that  the  Reverend 
Master  Dimmesdale,  her  godly  pastor,  takes  it  very 
grievously  to  heart  that  such  a  scandal  should  have 
come  upon  his  congregation." 

"  The  magistrates  are  God-fearing  gentlemen,  but 
merciful  overmuch,  —  that  is  a  truth,"  added  a  third 
autumnal  matron.  "  At  the  very  least,  they  should 
have  put  the  brand  of  a  hot  iron  on  Hester  Prynne 'a 
forehead.  Madam  Hester  would  have  winced  at  that,  I 


58 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


warrant  me.  But  she,  —  the  naughty  baggage,  —  little 
will  she  care  what  they  put  upon  the  bodice  of  her  gown  ! 
Why,  look  you,  she  may  cover  it  with  a  brooch,  or  such 
like  heathenish  adornment,  and  so  walk  the  streets  as 
brave  as  ever  !  " 

"  Ah,  but,"  interposed,  more  softly,  a  young  wife,  hold- 
ing a  child  by  the  hand,  "  let  her  cover  the  mark  as  she 
will,  the  pang  of  it  will  be  always  in  her  heart." 

"  What  do  we  talk  of  marks  and  brands,  whether  on 
the  bodice  of  her  gown,  or  the  flesh  of  her  forehead  ?  " 
cried  another  female,  the  ugliest  as  well  as  the  most  pit 
iless  of  these  self-constituted  judges.  "  This  woman  has 
brought  shame  upon  us  all,  and  ought  to  die.  Is  there 
not  law  for  it  ?  Truly  there  is,  both  in  the  Scripture  and 
the  statute-book.  Then  let  the  magistrates,  who  have 
made  it  of 'no  effect,  thank  themselves  if  their  own  wives 
arid  daughters  go  astray  !  " 

"  Mercy  on  us,  goodwife,"  exclaimed  a  man  in  the 
crowd,  "  is  there  no  virtue  in  woman,  save  what  springs 
from  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  gallows  ?  That  is  the 
hardest  word  yet !  Hush,  now,  gossips !  for  the  lock  is 
turning  in  the  prison  door,  and  here  comes  Mistress 
Prynne  herself." 

The  door  of  the  jail  being  flung  open  from  within, 
there  appeared,  in  the  first  place,  like  a  black  shadow 
emerging  into  sunshine,  the  grim  and  grisly  presence 
of  the  town-beadle,  with  a  sword  by  his  side,  and  his 
staff  of  office  in  his  hand.  This  personage  prefigured 
and  represented  in  his  aspect  the  whole  dismal  severity 
of  the  Puritanic  code  of  law,  which  it  was  his  business 
to  administer  in  its  final  and  closest  application  to  the 
offender.  Stretching  forth  the  official  staff  in  his  left 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  59 

hand,  he  laid  his  right  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  young 
woman,  whom  he  thus  drew  forward;  until,  on  the 
threshold  of  the  prison-door,  she  repelled  him,  by  an 
action  marked  with  natural  dignity  and  force  of  charac- 
ter, and  stepped  into  the  open  air,  as  if  'by  her  own  free 
will.  She  bore  in  her  arms  a  child,  a  baby  of  some 
three  months  old,  who  winked  and  turned  aside  its  little 
face  from  the  too  vivid  light  of  day ;  because  its  exist- 
ence, heretofore,  had  brought  it  acquainted  only  with  the 
gray  twilight  of  a  dungeon,  or  other  darksome  apartment 
of  the  prison. 

When  the  young  woman  —  the  mother  of  this  child 
—  stood  fully  revealed  before  the  crowd,  it  seemed  to  be 
her  first  impulse  to  clasp  the  infant  closely  to  her  bosom , 
not  so  much  by  an  impulse  of  motherly  affection,  as  that 
she  might  thereby  conceal  a  certain  token,  which  was 
wrought  or  fastened  into  her  dress.  In  a  moment,  how- 
ever, wisely  judging  that  one  token  of  her  shame  would 
but  poorly  serve  to  hide  another,  she  took  the  baby  on 
her  arm,  and,  with  a  burning  blush,  and  yet  a  haughty 
smile,  and  a  glance  that  would  not  be  abashed,  looked 
around  at  her  townspeople  and  neighbors.  On  the  breast 
of  her  gown,  in  fine  red  cloth,  surrounded  with  an  elab- 
orate embroidery  and  fantastic  flourishes  of  gold  thread, 
appeared  the  letter  A.  It  was  so  artistically  done,  and 
with  so  much  fertility  and  gorgeous  luxuriance  of  fancy, 
that  it  had  all  the  effect  of  a  last  and  fitting  decoration 
to  the  apparel  which  she  wore ;  and  which  was  of  a 
splendor  in  accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  but 
greatly  beyond  what  was  allowed  by  the  sumptuary  reg- 
ulations of  the  colony. 

The  young  woman  was  tall,  with  a  figure  of  perfect 


60  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

elegance  on  a  large  scale.  She  had  dark  and  abundant 
hair,  so  glossy  that  it  threw  off  the  sunshine  with  a 
gleam,  and  a  face  which,  besides  being  beautiful  from 
regularity  of  feature  and  richness  of  complexion,  had 
the  impressiveness  belonging  to  a  marked  brow  and 
deep  black  eyes.  She  was  lady-like,  too,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  feminine  gentility  of  those  days ;  character- 
ized by  a  certain  state  and  dignity,  rather  than  by  the 
delicate,  evanescent,  and  indescribable  grace,  which  is 
now  recognized  as  its  indication.  And  never  had  Hester 
Prynne  appeared  more  lady -like,  in  the  antique  interpre- 
tation of  the  term,  than  as  she  issued  from  the  prison. 
Those  who  had  before  known  her,  and  had  expected  to 
behold  her  dimmed  and  obscured  by  a  disastrous  cloud, 
were  astonished,  and  even  startled,  to  perceive  how  her 
beauty  shone  out,  and  made  a  halo  of  the  misfortune  and 
ignominy  in  which  she  was  enveloped.  It  may  be  true, 
that,  to  a  sensitive  observer,  there  was  something  exqui- 
sitely painful  in  it.  Her  attire,  which,  indeed,  she  had 
wrought  for  the  occasion,  in  prison,  and  had  modelled 
much  after  her  own  fancy,  seemed  to  express  the  attitude 
of  her  spirit,  the  desperate  recklessness  of  her  mood,  by 
its  wild  and  picturesque  peculiarity.  But  the  point  which 
drew  all  eyes,  and,  as  it  were,  transfigured  the  wearer, 
—  so  that  both  men  and  women,  who  had  been  familiarly 
acquainted  with  Hester  Prynne,  were  now  impressed  as 
if  they  beheld  her  for  the  first  time,  —  was  that  SCARLET 
LETTER,  so  fantastically  embroidered  and  illuminated 
upon  her  bosom.  It  had  the  effect  of  a  spel ,  taking  her 
out  of  the  ordinary  relations  with  humanity,  and  enclos- 
ing her  in  a  sphere  by  herself. 

"  She  hath  good  skill  at  her  needle,  that 's  certain, 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  61 

remarked  one  of  her  female  spectators ;  "but  did  ever  a 
woman,  before  this  brazen  hussy,  contrive  such  a  way 
of  showing  it !  Why,  gossips,  what  is  it  but  to  laugh  in 
the  faces  of  our  godly  magistrates,  and  make  a  pride 
out  of  what  they,  worthy  gentlemen,  mea'nt  for  a  punish- 
ment?" 

"  It  were  well,"  muttered  the  most  iron-visaged  of  the 
old  dames,  "  if  we  stripped  Madam  Hester's  rich  gown 
off  her  dainty  shoulders  ;  and  as  for  the  red  letter,  which 
she  hath  stitched  so  curiously,  I  '11  bestow  a  rag  of  mine 
own  rheumatic  flannel,  to  make  a  fitter  one  ! " 

"  O,  peace,  neighbors,  peace  !  "  whispered  their  young- 
est companion  ;  "  do  not  let  her  hear  you  !  Not  a  stitch 
in  that  embroidered  letter,  but  she  has  felt  it  in  her 
heart." 

The  grim  beadle  now  made  a  gesture  with  his  staff. 

"  Make  way,  good  people,  make  way,  in  the  King'', 
name  !  "  cried  he.  "  Open  a  passage  ;  and,  I  promise 
ye,  Mistress  Prynne  shall  be  set  where  man,  woman 
and  child,  may  have  a  fair  sight  of  her  brave  apparel, 
from  this  time  till  an  hour  past  meridian.  A  blessing  on 
the  righteous  Colony  of  the  Massachusetts,  where  in- 
iquity is  dragged  out  into  the  sunshine  !  Come  along, 
Madam  Hester,  and  show  your  scarlet  letter  in  the 
market-place  !  " 

A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of 
spectators.  Preceded  by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by 
an  irregular  procession  of  stern-browed  men  and  un- 
kindly visaged  women,  Hester  Prynne  set  forth  towards 
the  place  appointed  for  her  punishment.  A  crowd  of 
eager  and  curious  school-boys,  understanding  little  of  the 
matter  in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half-holiday, 


62  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ran  before  her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually 
to  stare  into  her  face,  and  at  the  winking  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  at  the  ignominious  letter  on  her  breast.  It 
was  no  great  distance,  in  those  days,  from  the  prison- 
door  to  the  market-place.  Measured  by  the  prisoner's 
experience,  however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  journey  of 
some  length  ;  for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she  per- 
chance underwent  an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those 
that  thronged  to  see  her,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  flung 
into  the  street  for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon. 
In  our  nature,  however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  mar- 
vellous and  merciful,  that  the  sufferer  should  never  know 
the  intensity  of  what  he  endures  by  its  present  torture, 
but  chiefly  by  the  pang  that  rankles  after  it.  With 
almost  a  serene  deportment,  therefore,  Hester  Prynne 
passed  through  this  portion  of  her  ordeal,  and  came  to  a 
sort  of  scaffold,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  market- 
place. It  stood  nearly  beneath  the  eaves  of  Boston's 
earliest  church,  and  appeared  to  be  a  fixture  there. 

In  fact,  this  scaffold  constituted  a  portion  of  a  penal 
machine,  which  now,  for  two  or  three  generations  past, 
has  been  merely  historical  and  traditionary  among  us, 
but  was  held,  in  the  old  time,  to  be  as  effectual  an  agent, 
in  the  promotion  of  good  citizenship,  as  ever  was  the 
guillotine  among  the  terrorists  of  France.  It  was,  in 
short,  the  platform  of  the  pillory ;  and  above  it  rose  the 
framework  of  that  instrument  of  discipline,  so  fash- 
ioned as  to  confine  the  human  head  in  its  tight  grasp, 
and  thus  hold  it  up  to  the  public  gaze.  The  very  ideal 
of  ignominy  was  embodied  and  made  manifest  in  this 
contrivance  of  wood  and  iron.  There  can  be  no  out- 
rage, me  thinks,  against  our  common  nature,  —  whatever 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  63 

be  the  delinquencies  of  the  individual,  —  no  outrage 
more  flagrant  than  to  forbid  the  culprit  to  hide  his  face 
for  shame ;  as  it  was  the  essence  of  this  punishment  to 
do.  In  Hester  Prynne's  instance,  however,  as  not  un- 
frequently  in  other  cases,  her  sentence  bore,  that  she 
should  stand  a  certain  time  upon  the  platform,  but  with- 
out undergoing  that  gripe  about  the  neck  and  confine- 
ment of  the  head,  the  proneness  to  which  was  the  most 
devilish  characteristic  of  this  ugly  engine.  Knowing 
well  her  part,  she  ascended  a  flight  of  wooden  steps,  and 
was  thus  displayed  to  the  surrounding  multitude,  at 
about  the  height  of  a  man's  shoulders  above  the  street. 

Had  there  been  a  Papist  among  the  crowd  of  Puritans, 
he  might  have  seen  in  this  beautiful  woman,  so  pictur- 
esque in  her  attire  and  mien,  and  with  the  infant  at  her 
bosom,  an  object  to  remind  him  of  the  image  of  Divine 
Maternity,  which  so  many  illustrious  painters  have  vied 
with  one  another  to  represent ;  something  which  should 
remind  him,  indeed,  but  only  by  contrast,  of  that  sacred 
image  of  sinless  motherhood,  whose  infant  was  to  redeem 
the  world.  Here,  there  was  the  taint  of  deepest  sin  in 
the  most  sacred  quality  of  human  life,  working  such 
effect,  that  the  world  was  only  the  darker  for  this 
woman's  beauty,  and  the  more  lost  for  the  infant  that 
she  had  borne. 

The  scene  was  not  without  a  mixture  of  awe,  such 
as  must  always  invest  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame 
in  a  fellow-creature,  before  society  shall  have  grown 
corrupt  enough  to  smile,  instead  of  shuddering,  at  it. 
The  witnesses  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace  had  not  yet 
passed  beyond  their  simplicity.  They  were  stern  enough 
to  look  upon  her  death,  had  that  been  the  sentence,  with- 


64  THE    SCARLET     LETTER. 

out  a  murmur  at  its  severity,  but  had  none  of  the  heart- 
lessness  of  another  social  state,  which  would  find  only  a 
theme  for  jest  in  an  exhibition  like  the  present.  Even 
had  there  been  a  disposition  to  turn  the  matter  into  ridi- 
cule, it  must  have  been  repressed  and  overpowered  by 
the  solemn  presence  of  men  no  less  dignified  than  the 
Governor,  and  several  of  his  counsellors,  a  judge,  a  gen- 
eral, and  the  ministers  of  the  town ;  all  of  whom  sat  or 
stood  in  a  balcony  of  the  meeting-house,  looking  down 
upon  the  platform.  When  such  personages  could  con- 
stitute a  part  of  the  spectacle,  without  risking  the  maj- 
esty or  reverence  of  rank  and  office,  it  was  safely  to  be 
inferred  that  the  infliction  of  a  legal  sentence  would 
have  an  earnest  and  effectual  meaning.  Accordingly, 
the  crowd  was  sombre  and  grave.  The  unhappy  culprit 
sustained  herself  as  best  a  woman  might,  under  the 
heavy  weight  of  a  thousand  unrelenting  eyes,  all  fast- 
ened upon  her,  and  concentrated  at  her  bosom.  It  was 
almost  intolerable  to  be  borne.  Of  an  impulsive  and 
passionate  nature,  she  had  fortified  herself  to  encounter 
the  stings  and  venomous  stabs  of  public  contumely, 
wreaking  itself  in  every  variety  of  insult;  but  there 
was  a  quality  so  much  more  terrible  in  the  solemn  mood 
of  the  popular  mind,  that  she  longed  rather  to  behold  all 
those  rigid  countenances  contorted  with  scornful  merri 
ment,  and  herself  the  object.  Had  a  roar  of  laughter 
burst  from  the  multitude,  —  each  man,  each  woman, 
each  little  shrill- voiced  child,  contributing  their  individ- 
ual parts,  —  Hester  Prynne  might  have  repaid  them  all 
with  a  bitter  and  disdainful  smile.  But,  under  the  leaden 
infliction  which  it  was  her  doom  to  endure,  she  felt,  at 
moments,  as  if  she  must  needs  shriek  out  with  the  full 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  o 

power  of  her  lungs,  and  cast  herself  from  the  scaffold 
down  upon  the  ground,  or  else  go  mad  at  once. 

Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  whole  scene,  in 
which  she  was  the  most  conspicuous  object,  seemed  to 
vanish  from  her  eyes,  or,  at  least,  glimmered  indistinctly 
before  them,  like  a  mass  of  imperfectly  shaped  and  spec- 
tral images.  Her  mind,  and  especially  her  memory,  was 
preternaturally  active,  and  kept  bringing  up  other  scenes 
than  this  roughly  hewn  street  of  a  little  town,  on  the 
edge  of  the  Western  wilderness  ;  other  faces  than  were 
lowering  upon  her  from  beneath  the  brims  of  those  stee- 
ple-crowned hats.  Reminiscences,  the  most  trifling  and 
immaterial,  passages  of  infancy  and  school-days,  sports, 
childish  quarrels,  and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her 
maiden  years,  came  swarming  back  upon  her,  inter- 
mingled with  recollections  of  whatever  was  gravest  in 
her  subsequent  life  ;  one  picture  precisely  as  vivid  as 
another ;  as  if  all  were  of  similar  importance,  or  all  alike 
a  play*  Possibly,  it  was  an  instinctive  device  of  her 
spirit,  to  relieve  itself,  by  the  exhibition  of  these  phantas- 
magoric forms,  from  the  cruel  weight  and  hardness  of 
the  reality. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory  was  a 
point  of  view  that  revealed  to  Hester  Prynne  the  entire 
track  along  which  she  had  been  treading,  since  her  happy 
infancy.  Standing  on  that  miserable  eminence,  she  saw 
again  her  native  village,  in  Old  England,  and  her  pater- 
nal home  ;  a  decayed  house  of  gray  stone,  with  a  pov- 
erty-stricken aspect,  but  retaining  a  half-obliterated  shield 
of  arms  over  the  portal,  in  token  of  antique  gentility. 
She  saw  her  father's  face,  with  its  bald  brow,  and  rev- 
erend white  beard,  that  flowed  over  the  old-fashioned 
5 


66  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

Elizabethan  ruff;  her  mother's,  too,  with  the  look  of 
heedful  and  anxious  love  which  it  always  wore  in  her 
remembrance,  and  which,  even  since  her  death,  had  so 
often  laid  the  impediment  of  a  gentle  remonstrance  in 
her  daughter's  pathway.  She  saw  her  own  face,  glow- 
ing with  girlish  beauty,  and  illuminating  all  the  interior 
of  the  dusky  mirror  in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  gaze 
at  it.  There  she  beheld  another  countenance,  of  a  man 
well  stricken  in  years,  a  pale,  thin,  scholar-like  visage, 
with  eyes  dim  and  bleared  by  the  lamp-light  that  had 
served  them  to  pore  over  many  ponderous  books.  Yet 
those  same  bleared  optics  had  a  strange,  penetrating 
power,  when  it  was  their  owner's  purpose  to  read  the 
human  soul.  This  figure  of  the  study  and  the  cloister,  as 
Hester  Prynne's  womanly  fancy  failed  not  to  recall,  was 
slightly  deformed,  with  the  left  shoulder* a  trifle  higher 
than  the  right.  Next  rose  before  her,  in  memory's  pic- 
ture-gallery, the  intricate  and  narrow  thoroughfares,  the 
tall,  gray  houses,  the  huge  cathedrals,  and  the  public 
edifices,  ancient  in  date  and  quaint  in  architecture,  of  a 
Continental  city;  where  a  new  life  had  awaited  her,  still 
in  connection  with  the  misshapen  scholar ;  a  new  life, 
but  feeding  itself  on  time-worn  materials,  like  a  tuft  of 
green  moss  on  a  crumbling  wall.  Lastly,  in  lieu  of 
these  shifting  scenes,  came  back  the  rude  market-place 
of  the  Puritan  settlement,  with  all  the  townspeople  as- 
sembled and  levelling  their  stern  regards  at  Hester 
Prynne,  —  yes,  at  herself,  —  who  stood  on  the  scaffold 
of  the  pillory,  an  infant  on  her  arm,  and  the  letter  A,  in 
scarlet,  fantastically  embroidered  with  gold  thread,  upon 
her  bosom ! 

Could  it  be  true  ?     She  clutched  the  child  so  fiercely 


THE  MARKET-PLACE.  67 

to  her  breast,  that  it  sent  forth  a  cry ;  she  turned  her  eyes 
downward  at  the  scarlet  letter,  and  even  touched  it  with 
her  finger,  to  assure  herself  that  the  infant  and  the 
shame  were  real.  Yes  !  —  these  were  her  realities,  — 
all  else  had  vanished ! 


68  THE    SCARLET   LETTER, 


III. 

THE  RECOGNITION. 

FROM  this  intense  consciousness  of  being  the  object 
of  severe  and  universal  observation,  the  wearer  of  the 
scarlet  letter  was  at  length  relieved,  by  discerning,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  a  figure  which  irresistibly 
took  possession  of  her  thoughts.  An  Indian,  in  his 
native  garb,  was  standing  there ;  but  the  red  men  were 
not  so  infrequent  visitors  of  the  English  settlements, 
that  one  of  them  would  have  attracted  any  notice  from 
Hester  Prynne,  at  such  a  time;  much  less  would  he 
have  excluded  all  other  objects  and  ideas  from  her  mind. 
By  the  Indian's  side,  and  evidently  sustaining  a  com- 
panionship with  him,  stood  a  white  man,  clad  in  a 
strange  disarray  of  civilized  and  savage  costume. 

He  was  small  in  stature,  with  a  furrowed  visage, 
which,  as  yet,  could  hardly  be  termed  aged.  There  was 
a  remarkable  intelligence  in  his  features,  as  of  a  person 
who  had  so  cultivated  his  mental  part  that  it  could  not 
fail  to  mould  the  physical  to  itself,  and  become  manifest 
by  unmistakable  tokens.  Although,  by  a  seemingly  care- 
less arrangement  of  his  heterogeneous  garb,  he  had 
endeavored  to  conceal  or  abate  the  peculiarity,  it  was 
sufficiently  evident  to  Hester  Prynne,  that  one  of  this 
man's  shoulders  rose  higher  than  the  other.  Again,  at 
the  first  instant  of  perceiving  that  thin  visage,  and  the 
slight  deformity  of  the  figure,  she  pressed  her  infant  to 
her  bosom,  with  so  convulsive  a  force  that  the  poor  babe 


THE    RECOGNITION.  69 

uttered  another  cry  of  pain.  But  the  mother  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it. 

At  his  arrival  in  the  market-place,  and  some  time 
before  she  saw  him,  the  stranger  had  bent  his  eyes  on 
Hester  Prynne.  It  was  carelessly,  at  first,  like  a  man 
chiefly  accustomed  to  look  inward,  and  to  whom  external 
matters  are  of  little  value  and  import,  unless  they  bear 
relation  to  something  within  his  mind.  Very  soon,  how- 
ever, his  look  became  keen  and  penetrative.  A  writhing 
horror  twisted  itself  across  his  features,  like  a  snake 
gliding  swiftly  over  them,  and  making  one  little  pause, 
with  all  its  wreathed  intervolutions  in  open  sight.  His 
face  darkened  with  some  powerful  emotion,  which,  nev- 
ertheless, he  so  instantaneously  controlled  by  an  effort 
of  his  will,  that,  save  at  a  single  moment,  its  expression 
might  have  passed  for  calmness.  After  a  brief  space, 
the  convulsion  grew  almost  imperceptible,  and  finally 
subsided  into  the  depths  of  his  nature.  When  he  found 
the  eyes  of  Hester  Prynne  fastened  on  his  own,  and 
saw  that  she  appeared  to  recognize  him,  he  slowly  and 
calmly  raised  his  finger,  made  a  gesture  with  it  in  the 
air,  and  laid  it  on  his  lips. 

Then,  touching  the  shoulder  of  a  townsman  who  stood 
next  to  him,  he  addressed  him,  in  a  formal  and  courteous 
manner, 

"  I  pray  you,  good  Sir,"  said  he,  c>  who  is  this  woman  ? 
—  and  wherefore  is  she  here  set  up  to  public  shame  ? " 

"  You  must  needs  be  a  stranger  in  this  region,  friend," 
answered  the  townsman,  looking  curiously  at  the  ques- 
tioner and  his  savage  companion,  "else  you  would 
surely  have  heard  of  Mistress  Hester  Prynne,  and  her 


70  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

evil  doings.  She  hath  raised  a  great  scandal,  I  promise 
you,  in  godly  Master  Dimmesdale's  church." 

"  You  say  truly/'  replied  the  other.  "  I  am  a  stran- 
ger, and  have  been  a  wanderer,  sorely  against  my  will. 
I  have  met  with  grievous  mishaps  by  sea  and  land,  and 
have  been  long  held  in  bonds  among  the  heathen-folk, 
to  the  southward ;  and  am  now  brought  hither  by  this 
Indian,  to  be  redeemed  out  of  my  captivity.  Will  it 
please  you,  therefore,  to  tell  me  of  Hester  Prynne's, — 
have  I  her  name  rightly?  —  of  this  woman's  offences, 
and  what  has  brought  her  to  yonder  scaffold  ?  " 

"  Truly,  friend ;  and  methinks  it  must  gladden  your 
heart,  after  your  troubles  and  sojourn  in  the  wilderness," 
said  the  townsman,  "  to  find  yourself,  at  length,  in  a 
land  where  iniquity  is  searched  out,  and  punished  in  the 
sight  of  rulers  and  people ;  as  here  in  our  godly  New 
England.  Yonder  woman,  Sir,  you  must  know,  was 
the  wife  of  a  certain  learned  man,  English  by  birth,  but 
who  had  long  dwelt  in  Amsterdam,  whence,  some  good 
time  agone,  he  was  minded  to  cross  over  and  cast  in  his 
lot  with  us  of  the  Massachusetts.  To  this  purpose,  he 
sent  his  wife  before  him,  remaining  himself  to  look  after 
some  necessary  affairs.  Marry,  good  Sir,  in  some  two 
years,  or  less,  that  the  woman  has  been  a  dweller  here 
in  Boston,  no  tidings  have  come  of  this  learned  gentle- 
man, Master  Prynne;  and  his  young  wife,  look  you. 
being  left  to  her  own  misguidance " 

"  Ah !  —  aha !  —  I  conceive  you,"  said  the  stranger, 
with  a  bitter  smile.  "  So  learned  a  man  as  you  speak 
of  should  have  learned  this  too  in  his  books.  And  who, 
by  your  favor,  Sir,  may  be  the  father  of  yonder  babe  — 


THE    RECOGNITION.  ^ 

it  is  some  three  or  four  months  old,  I  should  judge  — 
which  Mistress  Prynne  is  holding  in  her  arms?" 

"Of  a  truth,  friend,  that  matter  remaineth  a  riddle; 
and  the  Daniel  who  shall  expound  it  is  yet  a-wanting," 
answered  the  townsman.  "  Madam  Hester  absolutely 
refuseth  to  speak,  and  the  magistrates  have  laid  their 
heads  together  in  vain.  Peradventure  the  guilty  one 
stands  looking  on  at  this  sad  spectacle,  unknown  of  man, 
and  forgetting  that  God  sees  him." 

"The  learned  man,"  observed  the  stranger,  with 
another  smile,  "should  come  himself,  to  look  into  the 
mystery." 

"  It  behooves  him  well,  if  he  be  still  in  life,"  responded 
the  townsman.  "Now,  good  Sir,  our  Massachusetts 
magistracy,  bethinking  themselves  that  this  woman  is 
youthful  and  fair,  and  doubtless  was  strongly  tempted  to 
her  fall;  —  and  that,  moreover,  as  is  most  likely,  her 
husband  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea ;  —  they  have 
not  been  bold  to  put  in  force  the  extremity  of  our  right- 
eous law  against  her.  The  penalty  thereof  is  death. 
But  in  their  great  mercy  and  tenderness  of  heart,  they 
have  doomed  Mistress  Prynne  to  stand  only  a  space  of 
three  hours  on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  and  then  and 
thereafter,  for  the  remainder  of  her  natural  life,  to  wear 
a  mark  of  shame  upon  her  bosom." 

"A  wise  sentence!"  remarked  the  stranger,  gravely 
bowing  his  head.  "  Thus  she  will  be  a  living  sermon 
against  sin,  until  the  ignominious  letter  be  engraved 
upon  her  tomb-stone.  It  irks  me,  nevertheless,  that  the 
partner  of  her  iniquity  should  not,  at  least,  stand  on  the 
scaffold  by  her  side.  But  he  will  be  known!  —  he  will 
be  known  !  —  he  will  be  known!  " 


72  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

He  bowed  courteously  to  the  communicative  towns- 
man, and,  whispering  a  few  words  to  his  Indian  attend- 
ant, they  both  made  their  way  through  the  crowd. 

While  this  passed,  Hester  Prynne  had  been  standing 
on  her  pedestal,  still  with  a  fixed  gaze  towards  the 
stranger ;  so  fixed  a  gaze,  that,  at  moments  of  intense 
absorption,  all  other  objects  in  the  visible  world  seemed 
to  vanish,  leaving  only  him  and  her.  Such  an  inter- 
view, perhaps,  would  have  been  more  terrible  than  even 
to  meet  him  as  she  now  did,  with  the  hot,  midday  sun 
burning  down  upon  her  face,  and  lighting  up  its  shame ; 
with  the  scarlet  token  of  infamy  on  her  breast;  with 
the  sin-born  infant  in  her  arms :  with  a  whole  people, 
drawn  forth  as  to  a  festival,  staring  at  the  features  that 
should  have  been  seen  only  in  the  quiet  gleam  of  the 
fireside,  in  the  happy  shadow  of  a  home,  or  beneath  a 
matronly  veil,  at  church.  Dreadful  as  it  was,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  shelter  in  the  presence  of  these  thousand 
witnesses.  It  was  better  to  stand  thus,  with  so  many 
betwixt  him  and  her,  than  to  greet  him,  face  to  face,  they 
two  alone.  She  fled  for  refuge,  as  it  were,  to  the  pub- 
lic exposure,  and  dreaded  the  moment  when  its  protection 
should  be  withdrawn  from  her.  Involved  in  these 
thoughts,  she  scarcely  heard  a  voice  behind  her,  until  it 
had  repeated  her  name  more  than  once,  in  a  loud  and 
solemn  tone,  audible  to  the  whole  multitude. 

"  Hearken  unto  me,  Hester  Prynne ! "  said  the  voice. 

It  has  already  been  noticed,  that  directly  over  the  plat- 
form on  which  Hester  Prynne  stood  was  a  kind  of 
balcony,  or  open  gallery,  appended  to  the  meeting-house. 
It  was  the  place  whence  proclamations  were  wont  to  be 
made,  amidst  an  assemblage  of  the  magistracy,  with  all 


THE    RECOGNITION.  73 

the  ceremonial  that  attended  such  public  observances  in 
those  days.  Here,  to  witness  the  scene  which  we  are 
describing,  sat  Governor  Bellingham  himself,  with  four 
sergeants  about  his  chair,  bearing  halberds,  as  a  guard  of 
honor.  He  wore  a  dark  feather  in  his  hat,  a  border  of 
embroidery  on  his  cloak,  and  a  black  velvet  tunic  beneath ; 
a  gentleman  advanced  in  years,  with  a  hard  experience 
written  in  his  wrinkles.  He  was  not  ill  fitted  to  be  the 
head  and  representative  of  a  community,  which  owed  its 
origin  and  progress,  and  jts  present  state  of  development, 
not  to  the  impulses  of  youth,  but  to  the  stern  and  tempered 
energies  of  manhood,  and  the  sombre  sagacity  of  age  ; 
accomplishing  so  much,  precisely  because  it  imagined 
and  hoped  so  little.  The  other  eminent  characters,  by 
whom  the  chief  ruler  was  surrounded,  were  distinguished 
by  a  dignity  of  mien,  belonging  to  a  period  when  the 
forms  of  authority  were  felt  to  possess  the  sacredness  of 
Divine  institutions.  They  were,  doubtless,  good  men, 
just,  and  sage.  But,  out  of  the  whole  human  family,  it 
would  not  have  been  easy  to  select  the  same  number  of 
wise  and  virtuous  persons,  who  should  be  less  capable 
of  sitting  in  judgment  on  an  erring  woman's  heart,  and 
disentangling  its  mesh  of  good  and  evil,  than  the  sages 
of  rigid  aspect  towards  whom  Hester  Prynne  now  turned 
her  face.  She  seemed  conscious,  indeed,  that  whatever 
sympathy  she  might  expect  lay  in  the  larger  and  warmer 
heart  of  the  multitude ;  for,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  towards 
the  balcony,  the  unhappy  woman  grew  pale  and  trembled. 
The  voice  which  had  called  her  attention  was  that  of 
the  reverend  and  famous  John  Wilson,  the  eldest  clergy- 
man of  Boston,  a  great  scholar,  like  most  of  his  contem- 
poraries in  the  profession,  and  withal  a  man  of  kind  and 


74  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

Denial  spirit.  This  last  attribute,  however,  had  been  les? 
carefully  developed  than  his  intellectual  gifts,  and  was. 
in  truth,  rather  a  matter  of  shame  than  self-congratula- 
tion with  him.  There  he  stood,  with  a  border  of  grizzled 
locks  beneath  his  skull-cap ;  while  his  gray  eyes,  accus 
tomed  to  the  shaded  light  of  his  study,  were  winking, 
like  those  of  Hester's  infant,  in  the  unadulterated  sun- 
shine. He  looked  like  the  darkly  engraved  portraits 
which  we  see  prefixed  to  old  volumes  of  sermons ;  and 
had  no  more  right  than  one  of  those  portraits  would  have, 
to  step  forth,  as  he  now  did,  and  meddle  with  a  question 
of  human  guilt,  passion  and  anguish. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  I  have  striven 
with  my  young  brother  here,  under  whose  preaching  of 
the  word  you  have  been  privileged  to  sit,"  —  here  Mr. 
Wilson  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  a  pale  young 
man  beside  him,  —  "I  have  sought,  I  say,  to  persuade 
this  godly  youth,  that  he  should  deal  with  you,  here  in 
the  face  of  Heaven,  and  before  these  wise  and  upright 
rulers,  and  in  hearing  of  all  the  people,  as  touching  the 
vileness  and  blackness  of  your  sin.  Knowing  your  nat- 
ural temper  better  than  I,  he  could  the  better  judge  what 
arguments  to  use,  whether  of  tenderness  or  terror,  such 
as  might  prevail  over  your  hardness  and  obstinacy ;  inso- 
much that  you  should  no  longer  hide  the  name  of  him 
who  tempted  you  to  this  grievous  fall.  But  he  opposes 
to  rne,  (with  a  young  man's  over-softness,  albeit  wise 
beyond  his  years,)  that  it  were  wronging  the  very  nature 
of  woman  to  force  her  to  lay  open  her  heart's  secrets  in 
such  broad  daylight,  and  in  presence  of  so  great  a  mul- 
titude. Truly,  as  I  sought  to  convince  him,  the  shame 
lay  in  the  commission  of  the  sin,  and  not  in  the  showing 


THE    RECOGNITION.  75 

of  it  forth.  What  say  you  to  it,  once  again,  brother 
Dimmesdale  ?  Must  it  be  thou,  or  I,  that  shall  deal  wth 
this  poor  sinner's  soul  ?" 

There  was  a  murmur  among  the  dignified  and  rever- 
end occupants  of  the  balcony ;  and  Goverrior  Bellingham 
gave  expression  to  its  purport,  speaking  in  an  authorita- 
tive voice,  although  tempered  with  respect  towards  the 
youthful  clergyman  whom  he  addressed. 

"  Good  Master  Dimmesdale,"  said  he,  "  the  responsi- 
bility of  this  woman's  soul  lies  greatly  with  you'.  It  be- 
hooves you,  therefore,  to  exhort  her  to  repentance,  and 
to  confession,  as  a  proof  and  consequence  thereof." 

The  directness  of  this  appeal  drew  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  crowd  upon  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  ;  a 
young  clergyman,  who  had  come  from  one  of  the  great 
English  universities,  bringing  all  the  learning  of  the  age 
into  our  wild  forest-land.  His  eloquence  and  religious 
fervor  had  already  given  the  earnest  of  high  eminence  in 
his  profession.  He  was  a  person  of  very  striking  aspect, 
with  a  white,  lofty,  and  impending  brow,  large,  brown, 
melancholy  eyes,  and  a  mouth  which,  unless  when  he 
forcibly  compressed  it,  was  apt  to  be  tremulous,  express- 
ing both  nervous  sensibility  and  a  vast  power  of  self- 
restraint.  Notwithstanding  his  high  native  gifts  and 
scholar-like  attainments,  there  was  an  air  about  this 
young  minister,  —  an  apprehensive,  a  startled,  a  half- 
frightened  look,  —  as  of  a  being  who  felt  himself  .quite 
astray  and  at  a  loss  in  the  pathway  of  human  existence, 
and  could  only  be  at  ease  in  some  seclusion  of  his  own. 
Therefore,  so  far  as  his  duties  would  permit,  he  trod  in 
the  shadowy  by-paths,  and  thus  kept  himself  simple  and 
childlike ;  coming  forth,  when  occasion  was,  with  a  fresh- 


76  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ness,  and  fragrance,  and  dewy  purity  of  thought,  which, 
as  many  people  said,  affected  them  like  the  speech  of  an 
angel. 

Such  was  the  young  man  whom  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Wilson  and  the  Governor  had  introduced  so  openly  to 
the  public  notice,  bidding  him  speak,  in  the  hearing  of 
all  men,  to  that  mystery  of  a  woman's  soul,  so  sacred 
even  in  its  pollution.  The  trying  nature  of  his  position 
drove  the  blood  from  his  cheek,  and  made  his  lips  trem- 
ulous. 

"  Speak  to  the  woman,  my  brother,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  It  is  of  moment  to  her  soul,  and  therefore,  as  the  wor- 
shipful Governor  says,  momentous  to  thine  own,  in 
whose  charge  hers  is.  Exhort  her  to  confess  the 
truth ! " 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  bent  his  head,  in 
silent  prayer,  as  it  seemed,  and  then  came  forward. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  leaning  over  the  balcony, 
and  looking  down  steadfastly  into  her  eyes,  "  thou  near- 
est what  this  good  man  says,  and  seest  the  accountability 
under  which  I  labor.  If  thou  feelest  it  to  be  for  thy  soul's 
peace,  and  that  thy  earthly  punishment  will  thereby  be 
made  more  effectual  to  salvation,  I  charge  thee  to  speak 
out  the  name  of  thy  fellow-sinner  and  fellow-sufferer ! 
Be  not  silent  from  any  mistaken  pity  and  tenderness  for 
him ;  for,  believe  me,  Hester,  though  he  were  to  step 
down  from  a  high  place,  and  stand  there  beside  thee,  on 
thy  pedestal  of  shame,  yet  better  were  it  so,  than  to  hide 
a  guilty  heart  through  life.  What  can  thy  silence  do 
for  him,  except  it  tempt  him  —  yea,  compel  him,  as  it 
were  —  to  add  hypocrisy  to  sin  ?  Heaven  hath  granted 
thee  an  open  ignominy,  that  thereby  thou  mayest  work 


THE    RECOGNITION.  77 

out  an  open  triumph  over  the  evil  within  thee,  and  the 
sorrow  without.  Take  heed  how  thou  deniest  to  him  — 
who,  perchance,  hath  not  the  courage  to  grasp  it  for  him- 
self—  the  bitter,  but  wholesome,  cup  that  is  now  pre- 
sented  to  thy  lips  ! " 

The  young  pastor's  voice  was  tremulously  sweet,  rich, 
deep,  and  broken.  The  feeling  that  it  so  evidently  man- 
ifested, rather  than  the  direct  purport  of  the  words,  caused 
it  to  vibrate  within  all  hearts,  and  brought  the  listeners 
into  one  accord  of  sympathy.  Even  the  poor  baby,  at 
Hester's  bosom,  was  affected  by  the  same  influence ;  for 
it  directed  its  hitherto  vacant  gaze  towards  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  and  held  up  its  little  arms,  with  a  half  pleased, 
half  plaintive  murmur.  So  powerful  seemed  the  minis- 
ter's appeal,  that  the  people  could  not  believe  but  that 
Hester  Prynne  would  speak  out  the  guilty  name ;  or 
else  that  the  guilty  one  himself,  in  whatever  high  or 
lowly  place  he  stood,  would  be  drawn  forth  by  an  inward 
and  inevitable  necessity,  and  compelled  to  ascend  the 
scaffold. 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"  Woman,  transgress  not  beyond  the  limits  of  Heaven's 
mercy!"  cried  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson,  more  harshly 
than  before.  "  That  little  babe  hath  been  gifted  with  a 
voice,  to  second  and  confirm  the  counsel  which  thou  hast 
heard.  Speak  out  the  name !  That,  and  thy  repentance, 
may  avail  to  take  the  scarlet  letter  off  thy  breast." 

"  Never  ! "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking,  not  at  Mr. 
Wilson,  but  into  the  deep  and  troubled  eyes  of  the 
younger  clergyman.  "It  is  too  deeply  branded.  Ye 
cannot  take  it  off.  And  would  that  I  might  endure  his 
agony,  as  well  as  mine  ! " 


78  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"Speak,  woman!"  said  another  voice,  coldly  and 
sternly,  proceeding  from  the  crowd  about  the  scaffold. 
"  Speak ;  and  give  your  child  a  father  !  " 

"  I  will  not  speak  ! "  answered  Hester,  turning  pale  as 
death,  but  responding  to  this  voice,  which  she  too  surely 
recognized.  "  And  my  child  must  seek  a  heavenly 
Father ;  she  shall  never  know  an  earthly  one  ! " 

"  She  will  not  speak ! "  murmured  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
who,  leaning  over  the  balcony,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  had  awaited  the  result  of  his  appeal.  He  now 
drew  back,  with  a  long  respiration.  "  Wondrous  strength 
and  generosity  of  a  woman's  heart !  She  will  not 
speak ! " 

Discerning  the  impracticable  state  of  the  poor  culprit's 
mind,  the  elder  clergyman,  who  had  carefully  prepared 
himself  for  the  occasion,  addressed  to  the  multitude  a 
discourse  on  sin,  in  all  its  branches,  but  with  continual 
reference  to  the  ignominious  letter.  So  forcibly  did  he 
dwell  upon  this  symbol,  for  the  hour  or  more  during 
which  his  periods  were  rolling  over  the  people's  heads, 
that  it  assumed  new  terrors  in  their  imagination,  and 
seemed  to  derive  its  scarlet  hue  from  the  flames  of  the 
infernal  pit.  Hester  Prynne,  meanwhile,  kept  her  place 
upon  the  pedestal  of  shame,  with  glazed  eyes,  and  an  air 
of  weary  indifference.  She  had  borne,  that  morning,  all 
that  nature  could  endure ;  and  as  her  temperament  was 
not  of  the  order  that  escapes  from  too  intense  suffering 
by  a  swoon,  her  spirit  could  only  shelter  itself  beneath  a 
stony  crust  of  insensibility,  while  the  faculties  of  animal 
life  remained  entire.  In  this  state,  the  voice  of  the 
preacher  thundered  remorselessly,  but  unavailingly,  upor 
her  ears.  The  infant,  during  the  latter  portion  of  hei 


THE    RECOGNITION.  79 

ordeal,  pierced  the  air  with  its  wailings  and  screams ; 
she  strove  to  hush  it,  mechanically,  but  seemed  scarcely 
to  sympathize  with  its  trouble.  With  the  same  hard 
demeanor,  she  was  led  back  to  prison,  and  vanished  from 
the  public  gaze  within  its  iron-clamped  portal.  It  was 
whispered,  by  those  who  peered  after  her,  that  the  scarlet 
letter  threw  a  lurid  gleam  along  the  dark  passage-way 
of  the  interior. 


80  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 


IV. 

THE  INTERVIEW. 

AFTER  her  return  to  the  prison,  Hester  Prynne  was 
found  to  be  in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement  that  de- 
manded constant  watchfulness,  lest  she  should  perpetrate 
violence  on  herself,  or  do  some  half-frenzied  mischief  to 
the  poor  babe.  As  night  approached,  it  proving  impos- 
sible to  quell  her  insubordination  by  rebuke  or  threats  of 
punishment,  Master  Brackett,  the  jailer,  thought  fit  to 
introduce  a  physician.  He  described  him  as  a  man  of 
skill  in  all  Christian  modes  of  physical  science,  and  like- 
wise familiar  with  whatever  the  savage  people  could 
teach,  in  respect  to  medicinal  herbs  and  roots  that  grew 
in  the  forest.  To  say  the  truth,  there  was  much  need 
of  professional  assistance,  not  merely  for  Hester  herself, 
but  still  more  urgently  for  the  child ;  who,  drawing  its 
sustenance  from  the  maternal  bosom,  seemed  to  have 
drank  in  with  it  all  the  turmoil,  the  anguish  and  despair, 
which  pervaded  the  mother's  system.  It  now  writhed  in 
convulsions  of  pain,  and  was  a  forcible  type,  in  its  little 
frame,  of  the  moral  agony  which  Hester  Prynne  had 
borne  throughout  the  day. 

Closely  following  the  jailer  into  the  dismal  apartment, 
appeared  that  individual,  of  singular  aspect,  whose  pres- 
ence in  the  crowd  had  been  of  such  deep  interest  to  the 
wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter.  He  was  lodged  in  the  prison, 
not  as  suspected  of  any  offence,  but  as  the  most  conven- 
ient and  suitable  mode  of  disposing  of  him,  until  the  mag- 


THE    INTERVIEW.  '        8J 

istrates  should  have  conferred  with  the  Indian  sagamores 
respecting  his  ransom.  His  name  was  announced  as 
Roger  Chilling  worth.  The  jailer,  after  ushering  him 
into  the  room,  remained  a  moment,  marvelling  at  the 
comparative  quiet  that  followed  his  entrance ;  for  Hester 
Prynne  had  immediately  become  as  still  as  death, 
although  the  child  continued  to  moan. 

"  Prithee,  friend,  leave  me  alone  with  my  patient," 
said  the  practitioner.  "  Trust  me,  good  jailer,  you  shall 
briefly  have  peace  in  your  house ;  and,  I  promise  you, 
Mistress  Prynne  shall  hereafter  be  more  amenable  to  just 
authority  than  you  may  have  found  her  heretofore." 

"  Nay,  if  your  worship  can  accomplish  that,"  answered 
Master  Brackett,  "  I  shall  own  you  for  a  man  of  skill 
indeed !  Verily,  the  woman  hath  been  like  a  possessed 
one ;  and  there  lacks  little,  that  I  should  take  in  hand  to 
drive  Satan  out  of  her  with  stripes." 

The  stranger  had  entered  the  room  with  the  charac- 
teristic quietude  of  the  profession  to  which  he  announced 
himself  as  belonging.  Nor  did  his  demeanor  change, 
when  the  withdrawal  of  the  prison-keeper  left  him  face 
to  face  with  the  woman,  whose  absorbed  notice  of  him, 
in  the  crowd,  had  intimated  so  close  a  relation  between 
himself  and  her.  His  first  care  was  given  to  the  child ; 
whose  cries,  indeed,  as  she  lay  writhing  on  the  trundle- 
bed,  made  it  of  peremptory  necessity  to  postpone  all  other 
business  to  the  task  of  soothing  her.  He  examined  the 
infant  carefully,  and  then  proceeded  to  unclasp  a  leath- 
ern case,  which  he  took  from  beneath  his  dress.  It  ap- 
peared to  contain  medical  preparations,  one  of  which  ho 
mingled  with  a  cup  of  water. 

"  My  old  studies  in  alchemy,"  observed  he,  "  and  my 
A 


82  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

sojourn,  for  above  a  year  past,  among  a  people  well  versed 
in  the  kindly  properties  of  simples,  have  made  a  better 
physician  of  me  than  many  that  claim  the  medical  degree. 
Here,  woman !  The  child  is  yours,  —  she  is  none  of 
mine,  —  neither  will  she  recognize  my  voice  or  aspect  as 
a  father's.  Administer  this  draught,  therefore,  with 
thine  own  hand." 

Hester  repelled  the  offered  medicine,  at  the  same  time 
gazing  with  strongly  marked  apprehension  into  his  face. 

"  Wouldst  thou  avenge  thyself  on  the  innocent  babe  ?  " 
whispered  she. 

"  Foolish  woman ! "  responded  the  physician,  half 
coldly,  half  soothingly.  "  What  should  ail  me,  to  harm 
this  misbegotten  and  miserable  babe  ?  The  medicine  is 
potent  for  good ;  and  were  it  my  child,  —  yea,  mine  own, 
as  well  as  thine !  —  I  could  do  no  better  for  it." 

As  she  still  hesitated,  being,  in  fact,  in  no  reasonable 
state  of  mind,  he  took  the  infant  in  his  arms,  and  him- 
self administered  the  draught.  It  soon  proved  its  efficacy, 
and  redeemed  the  leech's  pledge.  The  moans  of  the 
little  patient  subsided ;  its  convulsive  tossings  gradually 
ceased;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  as  is  the  custom  of 
young  children  after  relief  from  pain,  it  sank  into  a  pro- 
found and  dewy  slumber.  The  physician,  as  he  had  a 
fair  right  to  be  termed,  next  bestowed  his  attention  on 
the  mother.  With  calm  and  intent  scrutiny,  he  felt  her 
pulse,  looked  into  her  eyes,  —  a  gaze  that  made  her  heart 
shrink  and  shudder,  because  so  familiar,  and  yet  so 
strange  and  cold,  —  and,  finally,  satisfied  with  his  inves- 
tigation, proceeded  to  mingle  another  draught. 

"  I  know  not  Lethe  nor  Nepenthe,"  remarked  he  ;  "  but 
I  have  learned  many  new  secrets  in  the  wilderness,  and 


THE    INTERVIEW.  83 

here  is  one  of  them,  —  a  recipe  that  an  Indian  taught 
me,  in  requital  of  some  lessons  of  my  own,  that  were  as 
old  as  Paracelsus.  Drink  it !  It  may  be  less  soothing 
than  a  sinless  conscience.  That  I  cannot  give  thee.  But 
it  will  calm  the  swell  and  heaving  of  thy  passion,  like  oil 
thrown  on  the  waves  of  a  tempestuous  sea." 

He  presented  the  cup  to  Hester,  who  received  it  with 
a  slow,  earnest  look  into  his  face  ;  not  precisely  a  look  of 
fear,  yet  full  of  doubt  and  questioning,  as  to  what  his 
purposes  might  be.  She  looked  also  at  her  slumbering 
child. 

"  I  have  thought  of  death,"  said  she,  —  "  have  wished 
for  it,  —  would  even  have  prayed  for  it,  were  it  fit  that 
such  as  I  should  pray  for  anything.  Yet,  if  death  be  in 
this  cup,  I  bid  thee  think  again,  ere  thou  beholdest  me 
quaff  it.  See  !  It  is  even  now  at  my  lips." 

"  Drink,  then,"  replied  he,  still  with  the  same  cold 
composure.  "  Dost  thou  know  me  so  little,  Hester 
Prynne?  Are  my  purposes  wont  to  be  so  shallow? 
Even  if  I  imagine  a  scheme  of  vengeance,  what  could  I 
do  better  for  my  object  than  to  let  thee  live, — than  to 
give  thee  medicines  against  all  harm  and  peril  of  life,  — 
so  that  this  burning  shame  may  still  blaze  upon  thy 
bosom  ?  "  As  he  spoke,  he  laid  his  long  forefinger  on 
the  scarlet  letter,  which  forthwith  seemed  to  scorch  into 
Hester's  breast,  as  if  it  had  been  red-hot.  He  noticed 
her  involuntary  gesture,  and  smiled.  "  Live,  therefore, 
and  bear  about  thy  doom  with  thee,  in  the  eyes  of  men 
and  women,  —  in  the  eyes  of  him  whom  thou  didst  call 
thy  husband,  —  in  the  eyes  of  yonder  child !  And,  that 
thou  mayest  live,  take  off  this  draught." 

Without  further  expostulation  or  delay,  Hester  Prynne 


84  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

drained  the  cup,  and,  at  the  motion  of  the  man  of  skill, 
seated  herself  on  the  bed  where  the  child  was  sleeping ; 
while  he  drew  the  only  chair  which  the  room  afforded, 
and  took  his  own  seat  beside  her.  She  could  not  but 
tremble  at  these  preparations  ;  for  she  felt  that  —  having 
now  done  all  that  humanity,  or  principle,  or,  if  so  it  were, 
a  refined  cruelty,  impelled  him  to  do,  for  the  relief  of 
physical  suffering  —  he  was  next  to  treat  with  her  as  the 
man  whom  she  had  most  deeply  and  irreparably  injured. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  I  ask  not  wherefore,  nor  how,  thou 
hast  fallen  into  the  pit,  or  say,  rather,  thou  hast  ascended 
to  the  pedestal' of  infamy,  on  which  I  found  thee.  The 
reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  was  my  folly,  and  thy  weak- 
ness. I,  —  a  man  of  thought,  —  the  book- worm  of  great 
libraries,  —  a  man  already  in  decay,  having  given  my 
best  years  to  feed  the  hungry  dream  of  knowledge,  — 
what  had  I  to  do  with  youth  arid  beauty  like  thine  own ! 
Misshapen  from  my  birth-hour,  how  could  I  delude  my- 
self with  the  idea  that  intellectual  gifts  might  veil  physi- 
cal deformity  in  a  young  girl's  fantasy  !  Men  call  me 
wise.  If  sages  were  ever  wise  in  their  own  behoof,  I 
might  have  foreseen  all  this.  I  might  have  known  that, 
as  I  came  out  of  the  vast  and  dismal  forest,  and  entered 
this  settlement  of  Christian  men,  the  very  first  object  to 
meet  my  eyes  would  be  thyself,  Hester  Prynne,  standing 
up,  a  statue  of  ignominy,  before  the  people.  Nay,  from 
the  moment  when  we  came  down  the  old  church-steps 
together,  a  married  pair,  I  might  have  beheld  the  bale-fire 
of  that  scarlet  letter  blazing  at  the  end  of  our  path  !  " 

"  Thou  knowest,"  said  Hester,  —  for,  depressed  as  she 
was,  she  could  not  endure  this  last  quiet  stab  at  the  token 


THE    INTERVIEW.  85 

of  her  shame,  —  "  thou  knowest  that  I  was  frank  with 
thee.  I  felt  no  love,  nor  feigned  any." 

"  True,"  replied  he.  "  It  was  my  folly !  I  have  said 
it.  But,  up  to  that  epoch  of  my  life,  I  had  lived  in  vain. 
The  world  had  been  so  cheerless !  My  heart  was  a  hab- 
itation large  enough  for  many  guests,  but  lonely  and  chill, 
and  without  a  household  fire.  I  longed  to  kindle  one ! 
It  seemed  not  so  wild  a  dream,  —  old  as  I  was,  and  som- 
bre as  I  was,  and  misshapen  as  I  was,  —  that  the  simple 
bliss,  which  is  scattered  far  and  wide,  for  all  mankind  to 
gather  up,  might  yet  be  mine.  And  so,  Hester,  I  drew 
thee  into  my  heart,  into  its  innermost  chamber,  and 
sought  to  warm  thee  by  the  warmth  which  thy  presence 
made  there ! " 

"  I  have  greatly  wronged  thee,"  murmured  Hester. 

"  We  have  wronged  each  other,"  answered  he.  "  Mine 
was  the  first  wrong,  when  I  betrayed  thy  budding  youth 
into  a  false  and  unnatural  relation  with  my  decay. 
Therefore,  as  a  man  who  has  not  thought  and  philoso- 
phized in  vain,  I  seek  no  vengeance,  plot  no  evil  against 
thee.  Between  thee  and  me,  the  scale  hangs  fairly  bal- 
anced. But,  Hester,  the  man  lives  who  has  wronged  us 
both  !  Who  is  he  ? " 

"  Ask  me  not !  "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking  firmly 
into  his  face.  "  That  thou  shalt  never  know !  " 

"  Never,  sayest  thou  ?  "  rejoined  he,  with  a  smile  of 
dark  and  self-relying  intelligence.  "  Never  know  him  ! 
Believe  me,  Hester,  there  are  few  things,  —  whether  in 
the  outward  world,  or,  to  a  certain  depth,  in  the  invisible 
spheie  of  thought,  —  few  things  hidden  from  the  man 
who  devotes  himself  earnestly  and  unreservedly  to  the 
solution  of  a  mystery.  Thou  mayest  cover  up  thy  secret 


86  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

from  the  prying  multitude.  Thou  mayest  conceal  it,  too, 
from  the  ministers  and  magistrates,  even  as  thou  didst 
this  day,  when  they  sought  to  wrench  the  name  out  of 
thy  heart,  and  give  thee  a  partner  on  thy  pedestal.  But, 
as  for  me,  I  come  to  the  inquest  with  other  senses  than 
they  possess.  I  shall  seek  this  man,  as  I  have  sought 
truth  in  books ;  as  I  have  sought  gold  in  alchemy. 
There  is  a  sympathy  that  will  make  me  conscious  of  him. 
I  shall  see  him  tremble.  I  shall  feel  myself  shudder, 
suddenly  and  unawares.  Sooner  or  later,  he  must  needs 
be  mine ! " 

The  eyes  of  the  wrinkled  scholar  glowed  so  intensely 
upon  her,  that  Hester  Prynne  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
heart,  dreading  lest  he  should  read  the  secret  there  at 
once. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  reveal  his  name  ?  Not  the  less  he  is 
mine,"  resumed  he,  with  a  look  of  confidence,  as  if  des- 
tiny were  at  one  with  him.  "  He  bears  no  letter  of  in- 
famy wrought  into  his  garment,  as  thou  dost ;  but  I  shall 
read  it  on  his  heart.  Yet  fear  not  for  him  !  Think  not 
that  I  shall  interfere  with  Heaven's  own  method  of  retri- 
bution, or,  to  my  own  loss,  betray  him  to  the  gripe  of 
human  law.  Neither  do  thou  imagine  that  I  shall  con- 
trive aught  against  his  life;  no,  nor  against  his  fame,  if, 
as  I  judge,  he  be  a  man  of  fair  repute.  Let  him  live ! 
Let  him  hide  himself  in  outward  honor,  if  he  may ! 
Not  the  less  he  shall  be  mine !  " 

"  Thy  acts  are  like  mercy,"  said  Hester,  bewildered 
and  appalled.  "  But  thy  words  interpret  thee  as  a  ter- 
ror !  " 

"  One  thing,  thou  that  wast  my  wife,  I  would  enjoin 
upon  thee,"  continued  the  scholar.  "  Thou  hast  kept  the 


THE    INTERVIEW.  87 

secret  of  thy  paramour.  Keep,  likewise,  mine !  There 
are  none  in  this  land  that  know  me.  Breathe  not,  to  any 
human  soul,  that  thou  didst  ever  call  me  husband !  Here, 
on  this  wild  outskirt  of  the  earth,  I  shall  pitch  my  tent ; 
for,  elsewhere  a  wanderer,  and  isolated  from  human  in- 
terests, I  find  here  a  woman,  a  man,  a  child,  amongst 
whom  and  myself  there  exist  the  closest  ligaments.  No 
matter  whether  of  love  or  hate ;  no  matter  whether  of 
right  OT  wrong  !  Thou  and  thine,  Hester  Prynne,  belong 
to  me.  My  home  is  where  thou  art,  and  where  he  is. 
But  betray  me  not !  " 

"  Wherefore  dost  thou  desire  it  ? "  inquired  Hester, 
shrinking,  she  hardly  knew  why,  from  this  secret  bond. 
"  Why  not  announce  thyself  openly,  and  cast  me  off  at 
once  ? " 

"  It  maybe,"  he  replied,  "  because  I  will  not  encounter 
the  dishonor  that  besmirches  the  husband  of  a  faithless 
woman.  It  may  be  for  other  reasons.  Enough,  it  is  my 
purpose  to  live  and  die  unknown.  Let,  therefore,  thy 
husband  be  to  the  world  as  one  already  dead,  and  of 
whom  no  tidings  shall  ever  come.  Recognize  me  not, 
by  word,  by  sign,  by  look !  Breathe  not  the  secret, 
above  all,  to  the  man  thou  wottest  of.  Shouldst  thou  fail 
me  in  this,  beware !  His  fame,  his  position,  his  life,  will 
be  in  my  hands.  Beware  !  " 

11 1  will  keep  thy  secret,  as  I  have  his,"  said  Hester. 

"  Swear  it !  "  rejoined  he. 

And  she  took  the  oath. 

"  And  now,  Mistress  Prynne,"  said  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  as  he  was  hereafter  to  be  named,  "  I  leave 
thee  alone ;  alone  with  thy  infant,  and  the  scarlet  letter ! 
How  is  it,  Hester?  Doth  thy  sentence  bind  thee  to 


88  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

wear  the  token  in  thy  sleep  ?  Art  thou  not  afraid  of 
nightmares  and  hideous  dreams  ?  " 

"Why  dost  thou  smile  so  at  me?"  inquired  Hester, 
troubled  at  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  "  Art  thou  like 
the  Black  Man  that  haunts  the  forest  round  about  us  ? 
Hast  thou  enticed  me  into  a  bond  that  will  prove  the 
ruin  of  my  soul  ?  " 

"Not  thy  soul,"  he  answered,  with  another  smile. 
"No,  not  thine!" 


HESTER    AT   HER   NEEDLE. 


V. 

HESTER  AT  HER  NEEDLE. 

HESTER  PRYNNE'S  term  of  confinement  was  now  at 
an  end.  Her  prison-door  was  thrown  open,  and  she 
came  forth  into  the  sunshine,  which,  falling  on  all 
alike,  seemed,  to  .^er  sick  and  morbid  heart,  as  if  meant 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  reveal  the  scarlet  letter  on 
her  breast.  Perhaps  there  was  a  more  real  torture  in 
her  first  unattended  footsteps  from  the  threshold  of  the 
prison,  than  even  in  the  procession  and  spectacle  that 
have  been  described,  where  she  was  made  the  common 
infamy,  at  which  all  mankind  was  summoned  to  point 
its  finger.  Then,  she  was  supported  by  an  unnatural 
tension  of  the  nerves,  and  by  all  the  combative  energy 
of  her  character,  which  enabled  her  to  convert  the  scene 
into  a  kind  of  lurid  triumph.  It  was,  moreover,  a  sepa- 
rate and  insulated  event,  to  occur  but  once  in  her  life- 
time, and  to  meet  which,  therefore,  reckless  of  economy, 
she  might  call  up  the  vital  strength  that  would  have 
sufficed  for  many  quiet  years.  The  very  law  that  con- 
demned her  —  a  giant  of  stern  features,  but  with  vigor 
to  support,  as  well  as  to  annihilate,  in  his  iron  arm  — 
had  held  her  up,  through  the  terrible  ordeal  of  her 
ignominy.  But  now,  with  this  unattended  walk  from 
her  prison-door,  began  the  daily  custom ;  and  she  must 
eithe^  sustain  and  carry  it  forward  by  the  ordinary 
resources  of  her  nature,  or  sink  beneath  it.  She 
could  no  longer  borrow  from  the  future  to  help  her 


90  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

through  the  present  grief.  To-morrow  would  bring  its 
own  trial  with  it ;  so  would  the  next  day,  and  so  would 
the  next ;  each  its  own  trial,  and  yet  the  very  same  that 
was  now  so  unutterably  grievous  to  be  borne.  The 
days  of  the  far-off  future  would  toil  onward,  still  with 
the  same  burden  for  her  to  take  up,  and  bear  along  with 
her,  but  never  to  fling  down ;  for  the  accumulating  days, 
and  added  years,  would  pile  up  their  misery  upon  the 
heap  of  shame.  Throughout  them  all,  giving  up  her 
individuality,  she  would  become  the  gc  ^eral  symbol  at 
which  the  preacher  and  moralist  might  point,  and  in  which 
they  might  vivify  and  embody  their  images  of  woman's 
frailty  and  sinful  passion.  Thus  the  young  and  pure 
would  be  taught  to  look  at  her,  with  the  scarlet  letter 
flaming  on  her  breast,  —  at  her,  the  child  of  honorable 
parents,  —  at  her,  the  mother  of  a  babe,  that  would 
hereafter  be  a  woman,  —  at  her,  who  had  once  been 
innocent,  —  as  the  figure,  the  body,  the  reality  of  sin. 
And  over  her  grave,  the  infamy  that  she  must  carry 
thither  would  be  her  only  monument. 

It  may  seem  marvellous,  that,  with  the  world  before 
her, —  kept  by  no  restrictive  clause  of  her  condemnation 
within  the  limits  of  the  Puritan  settlement,  so  remote 
and  so  obscure,  —  free  to  return  to  her  birth-place,  or  to 
any  other  European  land,  and  there  hide  her  character 
and  identity  under  a  new  exterior,  as  completely  as  if 
emerging  into  another  state  of  bem<7, —  and  having  also 
the  passes  of  the  dark,  inscrutable  forest  open  to  her, 
where  the  wildness  of  her  nature  might  assimilate 
itself  with  a  people  whose  customs  and  life  were  alien 
from  the  law  that  had  condemned  her,  —  it  may  seem 
marvellous,  that  this  woman  should  still  call  that  place 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  91 

her  home,  where,  and  where  only,  she  must  needs  be 
the  type  of  shame.  But  there  is  a  fatality,  a  feeling  so 
irresistible  and  inevitable  that  it  has  the  force  of  doom, 
which  almost  invariably  compels  human  beings  to  linger 
around  and  haunt,  ghost-like,  the  spot  where  some  great 
and  marked  event  has  given  the  color  to  their  lifetime ; 
and  still  the  more  irresistibly,  the  darker  the  tinge  that 
saddens  it.  Her  sin,  her  ignominy,  were  the  roots 
which  she  had  struck  into  the  soil.  It  was  as  if  a 
new  birth,  with  stronger  assimilations  than  the  first, 
had  converted  the  forest-land,  still  so  uncongenial  to 
every  other  pilgrim  and  wanderer,  into  Hester  Prynne's 
wild  and  dreary,  but  life-long  home.  All  other  scenes 
of  earth  —  even  that  village  of  rural  England,  where 
happy  infancy  and  stainless  maidenhood  seemed  yet  to 
be  in  her  mother's  keeping,  like  garments  put  off  long 
ago  —  were  foreign  to  her,  in  comparison.  The  chain 
that  bound  her  here  was  of  iron  links,  and  galling  to  her 
inmost  soul,  but  could  never  be  broken. 

It  might  be,  too, —  doubtless  it  was  so,  although  she 
hid  the  secret  from  herself,  and  grew  pale  whenever  it 
struggled  out  of  her  heart,  like  a  serpent  from  its  hole, 
—  it  might  be  that  another  feeling  kept  her  within  the 
scene  and  pathway  that  had  been  so  fatal.  There 
dwelt,  there  trode  the  feet  of  one  with  whom  she 
deemed  herself  connected  in  a  union,  that,  unrecognized 
on  earth,  would  bring  them  together  before  .the  bar  of 
final  judgment,  and  make  that  their  marriage-altar,  for 
a  joint  futurity  of  endless  retribution.  Over  and  over 
again,  the  tempter  of  souls  had  thrust  this  idea  upon 
Hester's  contemplation,  and  laughed  at  the  passionate 
and  desperate  joy  with  which  she  seized,  and  then 


92  THE    SCARLET    LET11R. 

strove  to  cast  it  from  her.  She  barely  looked  the  idea 
in  the  face,  and  hastened  to  bar  it  in  its  dungeon. 
What  she  compelled  herself  to  believe, — what,  finally, 
she  reasoned  upon,  as  her  motive  for  continuing  a  resi- 
dent of  New  England,  —  was  half  a  truth,  and  half  a 
self-delusion.  Here,  she  said  to  herself,  had  been  the 
scene  of  her  guilt,  and  here  should  be  the  scene  of  her 
earthly  punishment ;  and  so,  perchance,  the  torture  of 
her  daily  shame  would  at  length  purge  her  soul,  and 
work  out  another  purity  than  that  which  she  had  lost ; 
more  saint-like,  because  the  result  of  martyrdom. 

Hester  Prynne,  therefore,  did  not  flee.  On  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  within  the  verge  of  the  peninsula,  but 
not  in  close  vicinity  to  any  other  habitation,  there  was 
a  small  thatched  cottage.  It  had  been  built  by  an  earlier 
settler,  and  abandoned,  because  the  soil  about  it  was  too 
sterile  for  cultivation,  while  its  comparative  remoteness 
put  it  out  of  the  sphere  of  that  social  activity  which 
already  marked  the  habits  of  the  emigrants.  It  stood  on 
the  shore,  looking  across  a  basin  of  the  sea  at  the  forest- 
covered  hills,  towards  the  west.  A  clump  of  scrubby 
trees,  such  as  alone  grew  on  the  peninsula,  did  not  so 
much  conceal  the  cottage  from  view,  as  seem  to  denote 
that  here  was  some  object  which  would  fain  have  been, 
or  at  least  ought  to  be,  concealed.  In  this  little,  lone- 
some dwelling,  with  some  slender  means  that  she  pos- 
sessed, and  by  the  license  of  the  magistrates,  who  still 
kept  an  inquisitorial  watch  over  her,  Hester  established 
herself,  with  her  infant  child.  A  mystic  shadow  of 
suspicion  immediately  attached  itself  to  the  spot.  Chil- 
dren, too  young  to  comprehend  wherefore  this  woman 
should  be  shut  out  from  the  sphere  of  human  charities, 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  93 

would  creep  nigh  enough  to  behold  her  plying  her 
needle  at  the  cottage-window,  or  standing  in  the  door- 
way, or  laboring  in  her  little  garden,  or  coming  forth 
along  the  pathway  that  led  town  ward ;  and,  discerning 
the  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast,  would  scamper  off  with  a 
strange,  contagious  fear. 

Lonely  as  was  Hester's  situation,  and  without  a 
friend  on  earth  who  dared  to  show  himself,  she,  how- 
ever incurred  no  risk  of  want.  She  possessed  an  art 
that  sufficed,  even  in  a  land  that  afforded  comparatively 
little  scope  for  its  exercise,  to  supply  food  for  her  thriv- 
ing infant  and  herself.  It  was  the  art  —  then,  as  now, 
almost  the  only  one  within  a  woman's  grasp  —  of 
needle-work.  She  bore  on  her  breast,  in  the  curiously 
embroidered  letter,  a  specimen  of  her  delicate  and  imag- 
inative skill,  of  which  the  dames  of  a  court  might  gladly 
have  availed  themselves,  to  add  the  richer  and  more 
spiritual  adornment  of  human  ingenuity  to  their  fabrics 
of  silk  and  gold.  Here,  indeed,  in  the  sable  simplicity 
that  generally  characterized  the  Puritanic  modes  of  dress, 
there  might  be  an  infrequent  call  for  the  finer  produc- 
tions of  her  handiwork.  Yet  the  taste  of  the  age,  de- 
manding whatever  was  elaborate  in  compositions  of  this 
kind,  did  not  fail  to  extend  its  influence  over  our  stern 
progenitors,  who  had  cast  behind  them  so  many  fashions 
which  it  might  seem  harder  to  dispense  with.  Public 
ceremonies,  such  as  ordinations,  the  installation  of 
magistrates,  and  all  that  could  give  majesty  to  the  forms 
in  which  a  new  government  manifested  itself  to  the 
people,  were,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  marked  by  a  stately 
and  well-conducted  ceremonial,  and  a  sombre,  but  yet 
a  studied  magnificence.  Deep  ruffs,  painfully  wroug'it 


94  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

bands,  and  gorgeously  embroidered  gloves,  were  all 
deemed  necessary  to  the  official  state  of  men  assuming 
the  reins  of  power ;  and  were  readily  allowed  to  indi- 
viduals dignified  by  rank  or  wealth,  even  while  sump- 
tuary laws  forbade  these  and  similar  extravagances  to 
the  plebeian  order.  In  the  array  of  funerals,  too, — 
whether  for  the  apparel  of  the  dead  body,  or  to  typify, 
by  manifold  emblematic  devices  of  sable  cloth  and  snowy 
lawn,  the  sorrow  of  the  survivors,  —  there  was  a  fre- 
quent and  characteristic  demand  for  such  labor  as  Hes- 
ter Prynne  could  supply.  Baby-linen  —  for  babies  then 
wore  robes  of  state  —  afforded  still  another  possibility 
of  toil  and  emolument. 

By  degrees,  nor  very  slowly,  her  handiwork  became 
what  would  now  be  termed  the  fashion.  Whether  from 
commiseration  for  a  woman  of  so  miserable  a  destiny; 
or  from  the  morbid  curiosity  that  gives  a  fictitious  value 
even  to  common  or  worthless  things ;  or  by  whatever 
other  intangible  circumstance  was  then,  as  now,  sufficient 
to  bestow,  on  some  persons,  what  others  might  seek  in 
vain ;  or  because  Hester  really  filled  a  gap  which  must 
otherwise  have  remained  vacant ;  it  is  certain  that  she 
had  ready  and  fairly  requited  employment  for  as  many 
hours  as  she  saw  fit  to  occupy  with  her  needle.  Vanity, 
it  may  be,  chose  to  mortify  itself,  by  putting  on,  for 
ceremonials  of  pomp  and  state,  the  garments  that  had 
been  wrought  by  her  sinful  hands.  Her  needle-work 
was  seen  on  the  ruff  of  the  Governor;  military  men 
wore  it  on  their  scarfs,  and  the  minister  on  his  band ;  it 
decked  the  baby's  little  cap ;  it  was  shut  up,  to  be  mil- 
dewed and  moulder  away,  in  the  coffins  of  the  dead. 
But  it  is  not  recorded  that,  in  a  single  instance,  her  skill 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  95 

was  called  in  aid  to  embroider  the  white  veil  which  was 
to  cover  the  pure  blushes  of  a  bride.  The  exception 
indicated  the  ever  relentless  vigor  with  which  society 
frowned  upon  her  sin. 

Hester  sought  not  to  acquire  anything  beyond  a  sub- 
sistence, of  the  plainest  and  most  ascetic  description,  for 
herself,  and  a  simple  abundance  for  her  child.  Her  own 
dress  was  of  the  coarsest  materials  and  the  most  sombre 
hue ;  with  only  that  one  ornament,  —  the  scarlet  letter, 
—  which  it  was  her  doom  to  wear.  The  child's  attire, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  distinguished  by  a  fanciful,  or,  we 
might  rather  say,  a  fantastic  ingenuity,  which  served, 
indeed,  to  heighten  the  airy  charm  that  early  began  to 
develop  itself  in  the  little  girl,  but  which  appeared  to 
have  also  a  deeper  meaning.  We  may  speak  further 
of  it  hereafter.  Except  for  that  small  expenditure  in 
the  decoration  of  her  infant,  Hester  bestowed  all  her 
superfluous  means  in  charity,  on  wretches  less  misera- 
ble than  herself,  and  who  not  unfrequently  insulted  the 
hand  that  fed  them.  Much  of  the  time,  which  she 
might  readily  have  applied  to  the  better  efforts  of  her 
art,  she  employed  in  making  coarse  garments  for  the 
poor.  It  is  probable  that  there  was  an  idea  of  penance 
in  this  mode  of  occupation,  and  that  she  offered  up  a  real 
sacrifice  of  enjoyment,  in  devoting  so  many  hours  to 
such  rude  handiwork.  She  had  in  her  nature  a  rich, 
voluptuous,  Oriental  characteristic,  —  a  taste  for  the 
gorgeously  beautiful,  which,  save  in  the  exquisite  pro- 
ductions of  her  needle,  found  nothing  else,  in  all  the 
possibilities  of  her  life,  to  exercise  itself  upon.  Women 
derive  a  pleasure,  incomprehensible  to  the  other  sex, 
from  the  delicate  toil  of  the  needle.  To  Hester  Prynne 


yb  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

it  might  have  been  a  mode  of  expressing,  and  there- 
fore soothing,  the  passion  of  her  life.  Like  all  other 
joys,  she  rejected  it  as  sin.  This  morbid  meddling  of 
conscience  with  an  immaterial  matter  betokened,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  no  genuine  and  steadfast  penitence,  but  some- 
thing doubtful,  something  that  might  be  deeply  wrong, 
beneath. 

In  this  manner,  Hester  Prynne  came  to  have  a  part 
to  perform  in  the  world.  With  her  native  energy  of 
character,  and  rare  capacity,  it  could  not  entirely  cast 
her  off,  although  it  had  set  a  mark  upon  her,  more  in- 
tolerable to  a  woman's  heart  than  that  which  branded 
the  brow  of  Cain.  In  all  her  intercourse  with  society, 
however,  there  was  nothing  that  made  her  feel  as  if  she 
belonged  to  it.  Every  gesture,  every  word,  and  even 
the  silence  of  those  with  whom  she  came  in  contact, 
implied,  and  often  expressed,  that  she  was  banished, 
and  as  much  alone  as  if  she  inhabited  another  sphere, 
or  communicated  with  the  common  nature  by  other 
organs  and  senses  than  the  rest  of  human  kind.  She 
stood  apart  from  moral  interests,  yet  close  beside  them, 
like  a  ghost  that  revisits  the  familiar  fireside,  and  can 
no  longer  make  itself  seen  or  felt ;  no  more  smile  with 
the  household  joy,  nor  mourn  with  the  kindred  sorrow ; 
or,  should  it  succeed  in  manifesting  its  forbidden  sympa- 
thy, awakening  only  terror  and  horrible  repugnance. 
These  emotions,  in  fact,  and  its  bitterest  scorn  besides, 
seemed  to  be  the  sole  portion  that  she  retained  in  the 
universal  heart.  It  was  not  an  age  of  delicacy;  and 
her  position,  although  she  understood  it  well,  and  was 
in  little  danger  of  forgetting  it,  was  often  brought  be- 
fore her  vivid  self-perception,  like  a  new  anguish,  by 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  97 

the  rudest  touch  upon  the  tenderest  spot.  The  poor,  as 
we  have  already  said,  whom  she  sought  out  to  be  the 
objects  of  her  bounty,  often  reviled  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  forth  to  succor  them.  Dames  of  elevated 
rank,  likewise,  whose  doors  she  entered  in  the  way  of 
her  occupation,  were  accustomed  to  distil  drops  of  bit- 
terness into  her  heart ;  sometimes  through  that  alchemy 
of  quiet  malice,  by  which  women  can  concoct  a  subtile 
poison  from  ordinary  trifles ;  and  sometimes,  also,  by  a 
coarser  expression,  that  fell  upon  the  sufferer's  defence- 
less breast  like  a  rough  blow  upon  an  ulcerated  wound. 
Hester  had  schooled  herself  long  and  well ;  she  never 
responded  to  these  attacks,  save  by  a  flush  of  crimson 
that  rose  irrepressibly  over  her  pale  cheek,  and  again 
subsided  into  the  depths  of  her  bosom.  She  was  patient, 
—  a  martyr,  indeed,  —  but  she  forebore  to  pray  for  her 
enemies ;  lest,  in  spite  of  her  forgiving  aspirations,  the 
words  of  the  blessing  should  stubbornly  twist  themselves 
into  a  curse. 

Continually,  and  in  a  thousand  other  ways,  did  she 
feel  the  innumerable  throbs  of  anguish  that  had  been 
so  cunningly  contrived  for  her  by  the  undying,  the 
ever-active  sentence  of  the  Puritan  tribunal.  Clergy- 
men paused  in  the  street  to  address  words  of  exhorta- 
tion, that  brought  a  crowd,  with  its  mingled  grin  and 
frown,  around  the  poor,  sinful  woman.  If  she  entered 
a  church,  trusting  to  share  the  Sabbath  smile  of  the 
Universal  Father,  it  was  often  her  mishap  to  find  her- 
self the  text  of  the  discourse.  She  grew  to  have  a 
dread  of  children ;  for  they  had  imbibed  from  their 
parents  a  vague  idea  of  something  horrible  in  this  dreary 
woman,  gliding  silently  through  the  town,  with  never 
7 


98  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

any  companion  but  one  only  child.  Therefore,  first 
allowing  her  to  pass,  they  pursued  her  at  a  distance  with 
shrill  cries,  and  the  utterance  of  a  word  that  had  no  dis- 
tinct purport  to  their  own  minds,  but  was  none  the  less 
terrible  to  her,  as  proceeding  from  lips  that  babbled  it 
unconsciously.  It  seemed  to  argue  so  wide  a  diffusion 
of  her  shame,  that  all  nature  knew  of  it ;  it  could  have 
caused  her  no  deeper  pang,  had  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
whispered  the  dark  story  among  themselves,  —  had 
the  summer  breeze  murmured  about  it  —  had  the  wintry 
blast  shrieked  it  aloud  !  Another  peculiar  torture  was 
felt  in  the  gaze  of  a  new  eye.  When  strangers  looked 
curiously  at  the  scarlet  letter,  —  and  none  ever  failed  to 
do  so,  —  they  branded  it  afresh  into  Hester's  soul ;  so 
that,  oftentimes,  she  could  scarcely  refrain,  yet  always 
did  refrain,  from  covering  the  symbol  with  her  hand. 
But  then,  again,  an  accustomed  eye  had  likewise  its  own 
anguish  to  inflict.  Its  cool  stare  of  familiarity  was  in- 
tolerable. From  first  to  last,  in  short,  Hester  Prynne 
had  always  this  dreadful  agony  in  feeling  a  human  eye 
upon  the  token  ;  the  spot  never  grew  callous  ;  it  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  grow  more  sensitive  with  daily  tor- 
ture. 

But  sometimes,  once  in  many  days,  or  perchance  in 
many  months,  she  felt  an  eye  —  a  human  eye  —  upon 
the  ignominious  brand,  that  seemed  to  give  a  momentary 
relief,  as  if  half  of  her  agony  were  shared.  The  next 
instant,  back  it  all  rushed  again,  with  still  a  deeper  throb 
of  pain  ;  for,  in  that  brief  interval,  she  had  sinned  anew. 
Had  Hester  sinned  alone  ? 

Her  imagination  was  somewhat  affected,  and,  had  she 
been  of  a  softer  moral  and  intellectual  fibre,  would  have 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  99 

been  still  more  so,  by  the  strange  and  solitaiy  anguish 
of  her  life.  Walking  to  and  fro,  with  those  lonely  foot- 
steps, in  the  little  world  with  which  she  was  outwardly 
connected,  it  now  and  then  appeared  to  Hester,  —  if 
altogether  fancy,  it  was  nevertheless  too  potent  to  be  re- 
sisted, —  she  felt  or  fancied,  then,  that  the  scarlet  letter 
had  .endowed  her  with  a  new  sense.  She  shuddered  to 
believe,  yet  could  not  help  believing,  that  it  gave  her  a 
sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  hidden  sin  in  other  hearts. 
She  was  terror-stricken  by  the  revelations  that  were  thus 
made.  What  were  they  ?  Could  they  be  other  than 
the  insidious  whispers  of  the  bad  angel,  who  would  fain 
have  persuaded  the  struggling  woman,  as  yet  only  half 
his  victim,  that  the  outward  guise  of  purity  was  but  a 
lie,  and  that,  if  truth  were  everywhere  to  be  shown,  a 
scarlet  letter  would  blaze  forth  on  many  a  bosom  besides 
Hester  Prynne's  ?  Or,  must  she  receive  those  intima- 
tions—  so  obscure,  yet  so  distinct  —  as  truth?  In  all 
her  miserable  experience,  there  was  nothing  else  so  awful 
and  so  loathsome  as  this  sense.  It  perplexed,  as  well  as 
shocked  her,  by  the  irreverent  inopportuneness  of  the  oc- 
casions that  brought  it  into  vivid  action.  Sometimes  the 
red  infamy  upon  her  breast  would  give  a  sympathetic 
throb,  as  she  passed  near  a  venerable  minister  or  magis- 
trate, the  model  of  piety  and  justice,  to  whom  that  age 
of  antique  reverence  looked  up,  as  to  a  mortal  man  in 
fellowship  with  angels.  "  What  evil  thing  is  at  hand  ? 5* 
would  Hester  say  to  herself.  Lifting  her  reluctant  eyes, 
there  would  be  nothing  human  within  the  scope  of  view, 
save  the  form  of  this  earthly  saint !  Again,  a  mystic 
sisterhood  would  contumaciously  assert  itself,  as  she  met 
the  sanctified  frown  of  some  matron,  who,  according  to 


100  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  rumor  of  all  tongues,  had  kept  cold  snow  within  her 
bosom  throughout  life.  That  unsunned  snow  in  the 
matron's  bosom,  and  the  burning  shame  on  Hester 
Prynne's,  —  what  had  the  two  in  common  ?  Or,  once 
more,  the  electric  thrill  would  give  her  warning, — 
"  Behold,  Hester,  here  is  a  companion !  "  —  and,  looking 
up,  she  would  detect  the  eyes  of  a  young  maiden  glancing 
at  the  scarlet  letter,  shyly  and  aside,  and  quickly  averted, 
with  a  faint,  chill  crimson  in  her  cheeks ;  as  if  her  pu- 
rity were  somewhat  sullied  by  that  momentary  glance. 
O  Fiend,  whose  talisman  was  that  fatal  symbol,  wouldst 
thou  leave  nothing,  whether  in  youth  or  age,  for  this 
poor  sinner  to  revere  ?  —  such  loss  of  faith  is  ever  one 
of  the  saddest  results  of  sin.  Be  it  accepted  as  a  proof 
that  all  was  not  corrupt  in  this  poor  victim  of  her  own 
frailty,  and  man's  hard  law,  that  Hester  Prynne  yet 
struggled  to  believe  that  no  fellow-mortal  was  guilty 
like  herself. 

The  vulgar,  who,  in  those  dreary  old  times,  were  always 
contributing  a  grotesque  horror  to  what  interested  their 
imaginations,  had  a  story  about  the  scarlet  letter  which 
we  might  readily  work  up  into  a  terrific  legend.  They 
averred,  that  the  symbol  was  not  mere  scarlet  cloth, 
tinged  in  an  earthly  dye-pot,  but  was  red-hot  with  infer- 
nal fire,  and  could  be  seen  glowing  all  alight,  whenever 
Hester  Prynne  walked  abroad  in  the  night-time.  And 
we  must  needs  say,  it  seared  Hester's  bosom  so  deeply, 
that  perhaps  there  was  more  truth  in  the  rumor  than  our 
modern  incredulity  may  be  inclined  to  admit. 


PEARL. 


VL 

PEARL. 

WE  have  as  yet  hardly  spoken  of  the  infant ;  that 
little  creature,  whose  innocent  life  had  sprung,  by  the 
inscrutable  decree  of  Providence,  a  lovely  and  immor- 
tal flower,  out  of  the  rank  luxuriance  of  a  guilty  pas- 
sion. How  strange  it  seemed  to  the  sad  woman,  as  she 
watched  the  growth,  and  the  beauty  that  became  every 
day  more  brilliant,  and  the  intelligence  that  threw  its 
quivering  sunshine  over  the  tiny  features  of  this  child ! 
Her  Pearl !  —  For  so  had  Hester  called  her ;  not  as  a 
name  expressive  of  her  aspect,  which  had  nothing  of  the 
calm,  white,  unimpassioned  lustre  that  would  be  indi- 
cated by  the  comparison.  But  she  named  the  infant 
"Pearl,"  as  being  of  great  price,  —  purchased  with  all 
she  had,  —  her  mother's  only  treasure  !  How  strange, 
indeed  !  Man  had  marked  this  woman's  sin  by  a  scarlet 
.etter,  which  had  such  potent  and  disastrous  efficacy  that 
no  human  sympathy  could  reach  her,  save  it  were  sinful 
like  herself.  God,  as  a  direct  consequence  of  the  sin 
which  man  thus  punished,  had  given  her  a  lovely  child, 
whose  place  was  on  that  same  dishonored  bosom,  to  con- 
nect her  parent  forever  with  the  race  and  descent  of  mor- 
tals, and  to  be  finally  a  blessed  soul  in  heaven !  Yet 
these  thoughts  affected  Hester  Prynne  less  with  hope 
than  apprehension.  She  knew  that  her  deed  had  been 
evil ;  she  could  have  no  faith,  therefore,  that  its  result 
would  be  good.  Day  after  day,  she  looked  fearfully  into 


102  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  child's  expanding  nature;  ever  dreading  to  detect 
some  dark  and  wild  peculiarity,  that  should  correspond 
with  the  guiltiness  to  which  she  owed  her  being. 

Certainly,  there  was  no  physical  defect.  By  its  per- 
fect shape,  its  vigor,  and  its  natural  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  all  its  untried  limbs,  the  infant  was  worthy  to  have 
been  brought  forth  in  Eden  ;  worthy  to  have  been  left 
there,  to  be  the  plaything  of  the  angels,  after  the  world's 
first  parents  were  driven  out.  The  child  had  a  native 
grace  which  does  not  invariably  coexist  with  faultless 
beauty ;  its  attire,  however  simple,  always  impressed  the 
beholder  as  if  it  were  the  very  garb  that  precisely  became 
it  best.  But  little  Pearl  was  not  clad  in  rustic  weeds. 
Her  mother,  with  a  morbid  purpose  that  may  be  better 
understood  hereafter,  had  bought  the  richest  tissues  that 
could  be  procured,  and  allowed  her  imaginative  faculty 
its  full  play  in  the  arrangement  and  decoration  of  the 
dresses  which  the  child  wore,  before  the  public  eye.  So 
magnificent  was  the  small  figure,  when  thus  arrayed, 
and  such  was  the  splendor  of  Pearl's  own  proper  beauty, 
shining  through  the  gorgeous  robes  which  might  have 
extinguished  a  paler  loveliness,  that  there  was  an  abso- 
lute circle  of  radiance  around  her,  on  the  darksome  cot- 
tage floor.  And  yet  a  russet  gown,  torn  and  soiled  with 
the  child's  rude  play,  made  a  picture  of  her  just  as  per- 
fect. Pearl's  aspect  was  imbued  with  a  spell  of  infinite 
variety;  in  this  one  child  there  were  many  children, 
comprehending  the  full  scope  between  the  wild-flower 
prettiness  of  a  peasant-baby,  and  the  pomp,  in  little,  of 
an  infant  princess.  Throughout  all,  however,  there  was 
a  trait  of  passion,  a  certain  depth  of  hue,  which  she 
never  lost ;  and  if,  in  any  of  her  changes,  she  had  grown 


103 


fainter  or  paler,  she  would  have  ceased  to  be  herseii   — 
it  would  have  been  no  longer  Pearl ! 

This  outward  mutability  indicated,  and  did  not  more 
than  fairly  express,  the  various  properties  of  her  inner 
life.  Her  nature  appeared  to  possess  depth,  too,  as  well 
us  variety ;  but  —  or  else  Hester's  fears  deceived  her  — 
it  lacked  reference  and  adaptation  to  the  world  into 
which  she  was  born.  The  child  could  not  be  made 
amenable  to  rules.  In  giving  her  existence,  a  great  law 
had  been  broken ;  and  the  result  was  a  being  whose  ele- 
ments were  perhaps  beautiful  and  brilliant,  but  all  in 
disorder ;  or  with  an  order  peculiar  to  themselves,  amidst 
which  the  point  of  variety  and  arrangement  was  difficult 
or  impossible  to  be  discovered.  Hester  could  only  ac- 
count for  the  child's  character  —  and  even  then  most 
vaguely  and  imperfectly  —  by  recalling  what  she  herself 
had  been,  during  that  momentous  period  while  Pearl  was 
imbibing  her  soul  from  the  spiritual  world,  and  her  bodily 
frame  from  its  material  of  earth.  The  mother's  impas- 
sioned state  had  been  the  medium  through  which  were 
transmitted  to  the  unborn  infant  the  rays  of  its  moral 
life  ;  and,  however  white  and  clear  originally,  they  had 
taken  the  deep  stains  of  crimson  and  gold,  the  fiery 
lustre,  the  black  shadow,  and  the  untempered  light,  of 
the  intervening  substance.  Above  all,  the  warfare  of 
Hester's  spirit,  at  that  epoch,  was  perpetuated  in  Pearl. 
She  could  recognize  her  wild,  desperate,  defiant  mood, 
the  flightiness  of  her  temper,  and  even  some  of  the  very 
cloud-shapes  of  gloom  and  despondency  that  had  brooded 
vn  her  heart.  They  were  now  illuminated  by  the  morn- 
vng  radiance  of  a  young  child's  disposition,  but,  later  in 


104  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  day  of  earthly  existence,  might  be  prolific  of  the 
storm  and  whirlwind. 

The  discipline  of  the  family,  in  those  days,  was  of  a 
far  more  rigid  kind  than  now.  The  frown,  the  harsh 
rebuke,  the  frequent  application  of  the  rod,  enjoined  by 
Scriptural  authority,  were  used,  not  merely  in  the  way 
of  punishment  for  actual  offences,  but  as  a  wholesome 
regimen  for  the  growth  and  promotion  of  all  childish 
virtues.  Hester  Prynne,  nevertheless,  the  lonely  mother 
of  this  one  child,  ran  little  risk  of  erring  on  the  side  of 
undue  severity.  Mindful,  however,  of  her  own  errors 
and  misfortunes,  she  early  sought  to  impose  a  tender, 
but  strict  control  over  the  infant  immortality  that  was 
committed  to  her  charge.  But  the  task  was  beyond  her 
skill.  After  testing  both  smiles  and  frowns,  and  proving 
that  neither  mode  of  treatment  possessed  any  calculable 
influence,  Hester  was  ultimately  compelled  to  stand 
aside,  and  permit  the  child  to  be  swayed  by  her  own 
impulses.  Physical  compulsion  or  restraint  was  effect- 
ual, of  course,  while  it  lasted.  As  to  any  other  kind  of 
discipline,  whether  addressed  to  her  mind  or  heart,  little 
Pearl  might  or  might  not  be  within  its  reach,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  caprice  that  ruled  the  moment.  Her 
mother,  while  Pearl  was  yet  an  infant,  grew  acquainted 
with  a  certain  peculiar  look,  that  warned  her  when  it 
would  be  labor  thrown  away  to  insist,  persuade,  or  plead. 
It  was  a  look  so  intelligent,  yet  inexplicable,  so  perverse, 
sometimes  so  malicious,  but  generally  accompanied  by  a 
wild  flow  of  spirits,  that  Hester  could  not  help  question- 
ing, at  such  moments,  whether  Pearl  was  a  human  child. 
She  seemed  rather  an  airy  sprite,  which,  after  playing 
its  fantastic  sports  for  a  little  while  upon  the  cottage- 


PEARL.  10tp 

floor,  would  flit  away  with  a  mocking  smile.  Whenevr 
that  look  appeared  in  her  wild,  bright,  deeply  black  eyes 
it  invested  her  with  a  strange  remoteness  and  intangi- 
bility ;  it  was  as  if  she  were  hovering  in  the  air  and 
might  vanish,  like  a  glimmering  light,  that  comes  we 
know  not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither.  Be- 
holding it,  Hester  was  constrained  to  rush  towards  the 
child,  —  to  pursue  the  little  elf  in  the  flight  which  she 
invariably  began,  —  to  snatch  her  to  her  bosom,  with  a 
close  pressure  and  earnest  kisses,  —  not  so  much  from 
overflowing  love,  as  to  assure  herself  that  Pearl  was 
flesh  and  blood,  and  not  utterly  delusive.  But  Pearl's 
laugh,  when  she  was  caught,  though  full  of  merriment 
and  music,  made  her  mother  more  doubtful  than  before. 
Heart-smitten  at  this  bewildering  and  baffling  spell, 
that  so  often  came  between  herself  and  her  sole  treasure, 
whom  she  had  bought  so  dear,  and  who  was  all  her 
world,  Hester  sometimes  burst  into  passionate  tears. 
Then,  perhaps,  —  for  there  was  no  foreseeing  how  it 
might  affect  her,  —  Pearl  would  frown,  and  clench  her 
little  fist,  and  harden  her  small  features  into  a  stern,  un- 
sympathizing  look  of  discontent.  Not  seldom,  she  would 
laugh  anew,  and  louder  than  before,  like  a  thing  incapa- 
ble and  unintelligent  of  human  sorrow.  Or  —  but  this 
more  rarely  happened  —  she  would  be  convulsed  with  a 
rage  of  grief,  and  sob  out  her  love  for  her  mother,  in 
broken  words,  and  seem  intent  on  proving  that  she  had 
a  heart,  by  breaking  it.  Yet  Hester  was  hardly  safe  in 
confiding  herself  to  that  gusty  tenderness ;  it  passed,  as 
suddenly  as  it  came.  Brooding  over  all  these  matters, 
the  mother  felt  like  one  who  has  evoked  a  spirit,  but,  by 
some  irregularity  in  the  process  of  conjuration,  has  failed 


106  THE  SCARLET  LE1TER. 

to  win  the  master-word  that  should  control  this  new  and 
incomprehensible  intelligence.  Her  only  real  comfort 
was  when  the  child  lay  in  the  placidity  of  sleep.  Then 
she  was  sure  of  her,  and  tasted  hours  of  quiet,  sad,  deli- 
cious happiness ;  until  —  perhaps  with  that  perverse  ex- 
pression glimmering  from  beneath  her  opening  lids  — 
little  Pearl  awoke ! 

How  soon  —  with  what  strange  rapidity,  indeed !  — 
did  Pearl  arrive  at  an  age  that  was  capable  of  social 
intercourse,  beyond  the  mother's  ever-ready  smile  and 
nonsense-words !  And  then  what  a  happiness  would  it 
have  been,  could  Hester  Prynne  have  heard  her  clear, 
bird-like  voice  mingling  with  the  uproar  of  other  childish 
voices,  and  have  distinguished  and  unravelled  her  own 
darling's  tones,  amid  all  the  entangled  outcry  of  a  group 
of  sportive  children !  But  this  could  never  be.  Pearl 
was  a  born  outcast  of  the  infantile  world.  An  imp  of 
svil,  emblem  and  product  of  sin,  she  had  no  right  among 
christened  infants.  Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than 
*he  instinct,  as  it  seemed,  with  which  the  child  compre- 
hended her  loneliness ;  the  destiny  that  had  drawn  an 
inviolable  circle  round  about  her ;  the  whole  peculiarity, 
in  short,  of  her  position  in  respect  to  other  children. 
Never,  since  her  release  from  prison,  had  Hester  met  the 
public  gaze  without  her.  In  all  her  walks  about  the 
town,  Pearl,  too,  was  there ;  first  as  the  babe  in  arms, 
and  afterwards  as  the  little  girl,  small  companion  of  her 
mother,  holding  a  forefinger  with  her  whole  grasp,  and 
tripping  along  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four  footsteps  to  one 
of  Hester's.  She  saw  the  children  of  the  settlement,  on 
the  grassy  margin  of  the  street,  or  at  the  domestic  thresh- 
olds, disporting  themselves  in  such  grim  fashion  as  the 


PEARL.  lO™ 

Puritanic  nurture  would  permit;  playing  at  going  to 
church,  perchance ;  or  at  scourging  Quakers ;  or  taking 
scalps  in  a  sham-fight  with  the  Indians ;  or  scaring  one 
another  with  freaks  of  imitative  witchcraft,  Pearl  saw,  and 
gazed  intently,  but  never  sought  to  make  acquaintance. 
If  spoken  to,  she  would  not  speak  again.  If  the  children 
gathered  about  her,  as  they  sometimes  did,  Pearl  would 
grow  positively  terrible  in  her  puny  wrath,  snatching  up 
stones  to  fling  at  them,  with  shrill,  incoherent  exclama- 
tions, that  made  her  mother  tremble,  because  they  had  so 
much  the  sound  of  a  witch's  anathemas  in  some  unknown 
tongue. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  little  Puritans,  being  of  the 
most  intolerant  brood  that  ever  lived,  had  got  a  vague 
idea  of  something  outlandish,  unearthly,  or  at  variance 
with  ordinary  fashions,  in  the  mother  and  child ;  and 
therefore  scorned  them  in  their  hearts,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  reviled  them  with  their  tongues.  Pearl  felt  the 
sentiment,  and  requited  it  with  the  bitterest  hatred  that 
can  be  supposed  to  rankle  in  a  childish  bosom.  These 
outbreaks  of  a  fierce  temper  had  a  kind  of  value,  and 
even  comfort,  for  her  mother ;  because  there  was  at  least 
an  intelligible  earnestness  in  the  mood,  instead  of  the 
fitful  caprice  that  so  often  thwarted  her  in  the  child's 
manifestations.  It  appalled  her,  nevertheless,  to  discern 
here,  again,  a  shadowy  reflection  of  the  evil  that  had 
existed  in  herself.  All  this  enmity  and  passion  had 
Pearl  inherited,  by  inalienable  right,  out  of  Hester's 
heart.  Mother  and  daughter  stood  together  in  the  same 
circle  of  seclusion  from  human  society ;  and  in  the  nature 
of  the  child  seemed  to  be  perpetuated  those  unquiet  ele- 
ments that  had  distracted  Hester  Prynne  before  Pearl's 


108  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

birth,  but  had  since  begun  to  be  soothed  away  by  the 
softening  influences  of  maternity. 

At  home,  within  and  around  her  mother's  cottage, 
Pearl  wanted  not  a  wide  and  various  circle  of  acquaint- 
ance. The  spell  of  life  went  forth  from  her  ever  creative 
spirit,  and  communicated  itself  to  a  thousand  objects,  as 
a  torch  kindles  a  flame  wherever  it  may  be  applied.  The 
unlikeliest  materials, — a  stick,  a  bunch  of  rags,  a  flower, 
—  were  the  puppets  of  Pearl's  witchcraft,  and,  without 
undergoing  any  outwrard  change,  became  spiritually 
adapted  to  whatever  drama  occupied  the  stage  of  her 
inner  world.  Her  one  baby-voice  served  a  multitude  of 
imaginary  personages,  old  and  young,  to  talk  withal. 
The  pine-trees,  aged,  black  and  solemn,  and  flinging 
groans  and  other  melancholy  utterances  on  the  breeze, 
needed  little  transformation  to  figure  as  Puritan  elders  ; 
the  ugliest  weeds  of  the  garden  were  their  children, 
whom  Pearl  smote  down  and  uprooted,  most  unmerci- 
fully. It  was  wonderful,  the  vast  variety  of  forms  into 
which  she  threw  her  intellect,  with  no  continuity,  indeed, 
but  darting  up  and  dancing,  always  in  a  state  of  preter- 
natural activity,  —  soon  sinking  down,  as  if  exhausted 
by  so  rapid  and  feverish  a  tide  of  life,  —  and  succeeded 
by  other  shapes  of  a  similar  wild  energy.  It  was  like 
nothing  so  much  as  the  phantasmagoric  play  of  the 
northern  lights.  In  the  mere  exercise  of  the  fancy,  how- 
ever, and  the  sportiveness  of  a  growing  mind,  there  might 
be  little  more  than  was  observable  in  other  children  of 
bright  faculties  ;  except  as  Pearl,  in  the  dearth  of  human 
playmates,  was  thrown  more  upon  the  visionary  throng 
which  she  created.  The  singularity  lay  in  the  hostile 
feelings  with  which  the  child  regarded  all  these  offspring 


PEARL.  109 

of  her  own  heart  and  mind.  She  never  created  a  friend, 
but  seemed  always  to  be  sowing  broadcast  the  dragon's 
teeth,  whence  sprung  a  harvest  of  armed  enemies,  against 
whom  she  rushed  to  battle.  It  was  inexpressibly  sad  — 
then  what  depth  of  sorrow  to  a  mother,  who  felt  in  her 
own  heart  the  cause  !  —  to  observe,  in  one  so  young,  this 
constant  recognition  of  an  adverse  world,  and  so  fierce  a 
training  of  the  energies  that  were  to  make  good  her  cause, 
in  the  contest  that  must  ensue. 

Gazing  at  Pearl,  Hester  Prynne  often  dropped  her 
work  upon  her  knees,  and  cried  out  with  an  agony  which 
she  would  fain  have  hidden,  but  which  made  utterance 
for  itself,  betwixt  speech  and  a  groan,  —  "  O  Father  in 
Heaven,  —  if  Thou  art  still  my  Father,  —  what  is  this 
being  which  I  have  brought  into  the  world !  "  And 
Pearl,  overhearing  the  ejaculation,  or  aware,  through 
some  more  subtile  channel,  of  those  throbs  of  anguish, 
would  turn  her  vivid  and  beautiful  little  face  upon  her 
mother,  smile  with  sprite-like  intelligence,  and  resume 
her  play. 

One  peculiarity  of  the  child's  deportment  remains  yet 
to  be  told.  The  very  first  thing  which  she  had  noticed, 
in  her  life,  was  —  what  ?  —  not  the  mother's  smile,  re- 
sponding to  it,  as  other  babies  do,  by  that  faint,  embryo 
smile  of  the  little  mouth,  remembered  so  doubtfully  after- 
wards, and  with  such  fond  discussion  whether  it  were 
indeed  a  smile.  By  no  means  !  But  that  first  object  of 
which  Pearl  seemed  to  become  aware  was  —  shall  we  say 
it  ?  —  the  scarlet  letter  on  Hester's  bosom !  One  day,  as 
her  mother  stooped  over  the  cradle,  the  infant's  eyes  had 
been  caught  by  the  glimmering  of  the  gold  embroMery 
about  the  letter;  and,  putting  up  her  little  hand,  she 


110 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER 


grasped  at  it,  smiling,  not  doubtfully,  but  with  a  decided 
gleam,  that  gave  her  face  the  look  of  a  much  older  child. 
Then,  gasping  for  breath,  did  Hester  Prynne  clutch  the 
fatal  token,  instinctively  endeavoring  to  tear  it  away ;  so 
infinite  was  the  torture  inflicted  by  the  intelligent  touch 
of  Pearl's  baby-hand.  Again,  as  if  her  mother's  ago- 
nized gesture  were  meant  only  to  make  sport  for  her,  did 
little  Pearl  look  into  her  eyes,  and  smile !  From  that 
epoch,  except  when  the  child  was  asleep,  Hester  had 
never  felt  a  moment's  safety ;  not  a  moment's  calm  enjoy- 
ment of  her.  Weeks,  it  is  true,  would  sometimes  elapse, 
during  which  Pearl's  gaze  might  never  once  be  fixed 
upon  the  scarlet  letter ;  but  then,  again,  it  would  come 
at  unawares,  like  the  stroke  of  sudden  death,  and 
always  with  that  peculiar  smile,  and  odd  expression  of 
the  eyes. 

Once,  this  freakish,  elvish  cast  came  into  the  child's 
eyes,  while  Hester  was  looking  at  her  own  image  in  them, 
as  mothers  are  fond  of  doing;  and,  suddenly,  —  for  wo- 
men in  solitude,  and  with  troubled  hearts,  are  pestered 
with  unaccountable  delusions,  —  she  fancied  that  she  be- 
held, not  her  own  miniature  portrait,  but  another  face,  in 
the  small  black  mirror  of  Pearl's  eye.  It  was  a  face,  fiend- 
like,  full  of  smiling  malice,  yet  bearing  the  semblance  of 
features  that  she  had  known  full  well,  though  seldom 
with  a  smile,  and  never  with  malice  in  them.  It  was  as 
if  an  evil  spirit  possessed  the  child,  and  had  just  then 
peeped  forth  in  mockery.  Many  a  time  afterwards  had 
Hester  been  tortured,  though  less  vividly,  by  the  same 
illusion. 

In  the  afternoon  of  a  certain  summer's  day,  after  Pearl 
grew  big  enough  to  run  about,  she  amused  herself  with 


PEARL.  Ill 

gathering  handfuls  of  wild-flowers,  and  flinging  them,  one 
by  one,  at  her  mother's  bosom ;  dancing  up  and  down, 
like  a  little  elf,  whenever  she  hit  the  scarlet  letter.  Hes- 
ter's first  motion  had  been  to  cover  her  bosom  with  her 
clasped  hands.  But,  whether  from  pride  or  resignation, 
or  a  feeling  that  her  penance  might  best  be  wrought  out 
by  this  unutterable  pain,  she  resisted  the  impulse,  and 
sat  erect,  pale  as  death,  looking  sadly  into  little  Pearl's 
wild  eyes.  Still  came  the  battery  of  flowers,  almost  in- 
variably hitting  the  mark,  -and  covering  the  mother's 
breast  with  hurts  for  which  she  could  find  no  balm  in  this 
world,  nor  knew  how  to  seek  it  in  another.  At  last,  her 
shot  being  all  expended,  the  child  stood  still  and  gazed  at 
Hester,  with  that  little,  laughing  image  of  a  fiend  peep- 
ing out  —  or,  whether  it  peeped  or  no,  her  mother  so 
^magined  it  —  from  the  unsearchable  abyss  of  her  black 
*yes. 

"  Child,  what  art  thou  ?  "  cried  the  mother. 

"  O,  I  am  your  little  Pearl !  "  answered  the  child. 

But,  while  she  said  it,  Pearl  laughed,  and  began  to 
dance  up  and  down,  with  the  humorsome  gesticulation 
of  a  little  imp,  whose  next  freak  might  be  to  fly  up  the 
chimney. 

"  Art  thou  my  child,  in  very  truth  ?  "  asked  Hester. 

Nor  did  she  put  the  question  altogether  idly,  but,  for 
the  moment,  with  a  portion  of  genuine  earnestness ;  for, 
such  was  Pearl's  wonderful  intelligence,  that  her  mother 
half  doubted  whether  she  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
secret  spell  of  her  existence,  and  might  not  now  reveal 
herself. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  little  Pearl !  "  repeated  the  child,  contin- 
uing her  antics. 


112  THE    SCARLET   LETTER 

"  Thou  art  not  my  child  !  Thou  art  no  Pearl  of  mine !  " 
said  the  mother,  half  playfully  ;  for  it  was  often  the  case 
that  a  sportive  impulse  came  over  her,  in  the  midst  of  her 
deepest  suffering.  "  Tell  me,  then,  what  thou  art,  and 
who  sent  thee  hither  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  mother  !  "  said  the  child,  seriously,  coming 
up  to  Hester,  and  pressing  herself  close  to  her  knees. 
"  Do  thou  tell  me  !  " 

"  Thy  Heavenly  Father  sent  thee !  "  answered  Hester 
Prynne. 

But  she  said  it  with  a-  hesitation  that  did  not  escape 
the  acuteness  of  the  child.  Whether  moved  only  by  her 
ordinary  freakishness,  or  because  an  evil  spirit  prompted 
her,  she  put  up  her  small  forefinger,  and  touched  the 
scarlet  letter. 

"He  did  not  send  me!"  cried  she,  positively.  "I 
have  no  Heavenly  Father  !  " 

"  Hush,  Pearl,  hush !  Thou  must  not  talk  so !  "  an- 
swered the  mother,  suppressing  a  groan.  "  He  sent  us 
all  into  this  world.  He  sent  even  me,  thy  mother.  Then, 
much  more,  thee !  Or,  if  not,  thou  strange  and  elfish 
child,  whence  didst  thou  come  ?  " 

"  Tell  me !  Tell  me  !  "  repeated  Pearl,  no  longer 
seriously,  but  laughing,  and  capering  about  the  floor. 
"  It  is  thou  that  must  tell  me !  " 

But  Hester  could  not  resolve  the  query,  being  herself 
in  a  dismal  labyrinth  of  doubt.  She  remembered  —  be- 
twixt a  smile  and  a  shudder  —  the  talk  of  the  neighbor- 
ing townspeople  ;  who,  seeking  vainly  elsewhere  for  the 
child's  paternity,  and  observing  some  of  her  odd  attributes, 
had  given  out  that  poor  little  Pearl  was  a  demon  off- 
spring ;  such  as,  ever  since  old  Catholic  times,  had  occa- 


TEAKL.  113 

sionally  been  seen  on  earth,  through  the  agency  of  their 
mother's  sin,  and  to  promote  some  foul  and  wicked  pur- 
pose. Luther,  according  to  the  scandal  of  his  monkish 
enemies,  was  a  brat  of  that  hellish  breed ;  nor  was  Pearl 
the  only  child  to  whom  this  inauspicious  origin  was 
assigned,  among  the  New  England  Puritans. 
8 


114  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


VII. 

THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL. 

HESTER  PRYNNE  went,  one  day,  to  the  mansion  of 
Governor  Bellingham,  with  a  pair  of  gloves,  which  she 
had  fringed  and  embroidered  to  his  order,  and  which  were 
to  be  worn  on  some  great  occasion  of  state  ;  for,  though 
the  chances  of  a  popular  election  had  caused  this  former 
ruler  to  descend  a  step  or  two  from  the  highest  rank,  he 
still  held  an  honorable  and  influential  place  among  the 
colonial  magistracy. 

Another  and  far  more  important  reason  than  the  deliv- 
ery of  a  pair  of  embroidered  gloves  impelled  Hester,  at 
this  time,  to  seek  an  interview  with  a  personage  of  so 
much  power  and  activity  in  the  affairs  of  the  settlement. 
It  had  reached  her  ears,  that  there  was  a  design  on  the 
part  of  some  of  the  leading  inhabitants,  cherishing  the 
more  rigid  order  of  principles  in  religion  and  government, 
to  deprive  her  of  her  child.  On  the  supposition  that 
Pearl,  as  already  hinted,  was  of  demon  origin,  these  good 
people  not  unreasonably  argued  that  a  Christian  interest 
in  the  mother's  soul  required  them  to  remove  such  a 
stumbling-block  from  her  path.  If  the  child,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  really  capable  of  moral  and  religious 
growth,  and  possessed  the  elements  of  ultimate  salvation, 
then,  surely,  it  would  enjoy  all  the  fairer  prospect  of  these 
advantages,  by  being  transferred  to  wiser  and  better 
guardianship  than  Hester  Prynne's.  Among  those  who 
promoted  the  design,  Governor  Bellingham  was  said  to 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL.  115 

be  one  of  the  most  busy.  It  may  appear  singular,  and, 
indeed,  not  a  little  ludicrous,  that  an  affair  of  this 
kind,  which,  in  later  days,  would  have  been  referred 
to  no  higher  jurisdiction  than  that  of  the  -selectmen  of 
the  town,  should  then  have  been  a  question  publicly 
discussed,  and  on  which  statesmen  of  eminence  took 
sides.  At  that  epoch  of  pristine  simplicity,  however, 
matters  of  even  slighter  public  interest,  and  of  far  less 
intrinsic  weight,  than  the  welfare  of  Hester  and  her 
child,  were  strangely  mixed  up  with  the  deliberations  of 
legislators  and  acts  of  state.  The  period  was  hardly, 
if  at  all,  earlier  than  that  of  our  story,  when  a  dispute 
concerning  the  right  of  property  in  a  pig,  not  only  caused 
a  fierce  and  bitter  contest  in  the  legislative  body  of  the 
colony,  but  resulted  in  an  important  modification  of  the 
framework  itself  of  the  legislature. 

Full  of  concern,  therefore,  —  but  so  conscious  of  her 
own  right  that  it  seemed  scarcely  an  unequal  match 
between  the  public,  on  the  one  side,  and  a  lonely  woman, 
backed  by  the  sympathies  of  nature,  on  the  other, — 
Hester  Prynne  set  forth  from  her  solitary  cottage.  Lit- 
tle Pearl,  of  course,  was  her  companion.  She  was  now 
of  an  age  to  run  lightly  along  by  her  mother's  side,  and 
constantly  in  motion,  from  morn  till  sunset,  could  have 
accomplished  a  much  longer  journey  than  that  before 
her.  Often,  nevertheless,  more  from  caprice  than  neces- 
sity, she  demanded  to  be  taken  up  in  arms  ;  but  was  soon 
as  imperious  to  be  set  down  again,  and  frisked  onward 
before  Hester  on  the  grassy  pathway,  with  many  a 
harmless  trip  and  tumble.  We  have  spoken  of  Pearl's 
rich  and  luxuriant  beauty;  a  beauty  that  shone  with 
deep  and  vivid  tints;  a  bright  complexion,  eyes  possess- 


116  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ing  intensity  both  of  depth  and  glow,  and  hair  already 
of  a  deep,  glossy  brown,  and  which,  in  after  years, 
would  be  nearly  akin  to  black.  There  was  fire  in  her 
and  throughout  her;  she  seemed  the  unpremeditated 
offshoot  of  a  passionate  moment.  Her  mother,  in  con- 
triving the  child's  garb,  had  allowed  the  gorgeous  ten- 
dencies of  her  imagination  their  full  play;  arraying  her 
in  a  crimson  velvet  tunic,  of  a  peculiar  cut,  abundantly 
embroidered  with  fantasies  and  flourishes  of  gold  thread. 
So  much  strength  of  coloring,  which  must  have  given  a 
wan  and  pallid  aspect  to  cheeks  of  a  fainter  bloom,  was 
admirably  adapted  to  Pearl's  beauty,  and  made  her  the 
very  brightest  little  jet  of  flame  that  ever  danced  upon 
the  earth. 

But  it  was  a  remarkable  attribute  of  this  garb,  and, 
indeed,  of  the  child's  whole  appearance,  that  it  irresist- 
ibly and  inevitably  reminded  the  beholder  of  the  token 
which  Hester  Prynne  was  doomed  to  wear  upon  her 
bosom.  It  was  the  scarlet  letter  in  another  form;  the 
scarlet  letter  endowed  with  life  !  The  mother  herself — 
as  if  the  red  ignominy  were  so  deeply  scorched  into  her 
brain  that  all  her  conceptions  assumed  its  form  —  had 
carefully  wrought  out  the  similitude ;  lavishing  many 
hours  of  morbid  ingenuity,  to  create  an  analogy  between 
the  object  of  her  affection  and  the  emblem  of  her  guilt 
and  torture.  But,  in  truth,  Pearl  was  the  one,  as  well 
as  the  other;  and  only  in  consequence  of  that  identity 
had  Hester  contrived  so  perfectly  to  represent  the  scarlet 
letter  in  her  appearance. 

As  the  two  wayfarers  came  within  the  precincts  of 
the  town,  the  children  of  the  Puritans  looked  up  from 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL.  117 

their  play,  —  or  what  passed  for  play  with  those  sombre 
little  urchins,  —  and  spake  gravely  one  to  another:  — 

"  Behold,  verily,  there  is  the  woman  of  the  scarlet 
letter;  and,  of  a  truth,  moreover,  there  is  the  likeness 
of  the  scarlet  letter  running  along  by  her  s'ide  !  Come, 
therefore,  and  let  us  fling  mud  at  them !  " 

But  Pearl,  who  was  a  dauntless  child,  after  frowning, 
stamping  her  foot,  and  shaking  her  little  hand  with  a 
variety  of  threatening  gestures,  suddenly  made  a  rush 
at  the  knot  of  her  enemies,  and  put  them  all  to  flight. 
She  resembled,  in  her  fierce  pursuit  of  them,  an  infant 
pestilence,  —  the  scarlet  fever,  or  some  such  half-fledged 
angel  of  judgment,  —  whose  mission  was  to  punish  the 
sins  of  the  rising  generation.  She  screamed  and  shout- 
ed, too,  with  a  terrific  volume  of  sound,  which,  doubtless, 
caused  the  hearts  of  the  fugitives  to  quake  within  them. 
The  victory  accomplished,  Pearl  returned  quietly  to  her 
mother,  and  looked  up,  smiling,  into  her  face. 

Without  further  adventure,  they  reached  the  dwelling 
of  Governor  Bellingham.  This  was  a  large  wooden 
house,  built  in  a  fashion  of  which  there  are  specimens 
still  extant  in  the  streets  of  our  elder  towns ;  now  moss- 
grown,  crumbling  to  decay,  and  melancholy  at  heart 
with  the  many  sorrowful  or  joyful  occurrences,  remem- 
bered or  forgotten,  that  have  happened,  and  passed 
away,  within  their  dusky  chambers.  Then,  however, 
there  was  the  freshness  of  the  passing  year  on  its  exte- 
rior, and  the  cheerfulness,  gleaming  forth  from  the  sunny 
windows,  of  a  human  habitation,  into  which  death  had 
never  entered.  It  had,  indeed,  a  very  cheery  aspect; 
the  walls  being  overspread  with  a  kind  of  stucco,  in 
which  fragments  of  broken  glass  were  plentifully  inter- 


118  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

mixed ;  so  that,  when  the  sunshine  fell  aslant-wise  over 
the  front  of  the  edifice,  it  glittered  and  sparkled  as  if 
diamonds  had  been  flung  against  it  by  the  double 
handful.  The  brilliancy  might  have  befitted  Aladdin's 
palace,  rather  than  the  mansion  of  a  grave  old  Puritan 
ruler.  It  was  further  decorated  with  strange  and  seem- 
ingly cabalistic  figures  and  diagrams,  suitable  to  the 
quaint  taste  of  the  age,  which  had  been  drawn  in  the 
stucco  when  newly  laid  on,  and  had  now  grown  hard 
and  durable,  for  the  admiration  of  after  times. 

Pearl,  looking  at  this  bright  wonder  of  a  house,  began 
to  caper  and  dance,  and  imperatively  required  that  the 
whole  breadth  of  sunshine  should  be  stripped  off  its 
front,  and  given  her  to  play  with. 

"  No,  my  little  Pearl !  "  said  her  mother.  "  Thou 
must  gather  thine  own  sunshine.  I  have  none  to  give 
thee ! " 

They  approached  the  door ;  which  was  of  an  arched 
form,  and  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  narrow  tower  or 
projection  of  the  edifice,  in  both  of  which  were  lattice- 
windows,  with  wooden  shutters  to  close  over  them  at 
need.  Lifting  the  iron  hammer  that  hung  at  the  portal, 
Hester  Prynne  gave  a  summons,  which  was  answered 
by  one  of  the  Governor's  bond-servants;  a  free-born 
Englishman,  but  now  a  seven  years'  slave.  During 
that  term  he  was  to  be  the  property  of  his  master,  and 
as  much  a  commodity  of  bargain  and  sale  as  an  ox,  or 
a  joint-stool.  The  serf  wore  the  blue  coat,  which  was 
the  customary  garb  of  serving-men  at  that  period,  and 
long  before,  in  the  old  hereditary  halls  of  England. 

"Is  the  worshipful  Governor  Bellingham  within?" 
inquired  Hester. 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL.  119 

"Yea,  forsooth,"  replied  the  bond-servant,  staring 
with  wide-open  eyes  at  the  scarlet  letter,  which,  being  a 
new-comer  in  the  country,  he  had  never  before  seen. 
"  Yea,  his  honorable  worship  is  within.  But  he  hath  a 
godly  minister  or  two  with  him,  aiidclikewise  a  leech. 
Ye  may  not  see  his  worship  now." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  enter,"  answered  Hester  Prynne; 
and  the  bond-servant,  perhaps  judging  from  the  decision 
of  her  air,  and  the  glittering  symbol  in  her  bosom,  that 
she  was  a  great  lady  in  the  land,  offered  no  opposition. 

So  the  mother  and  little  Pearl  were  admitted  into 
the  hall  of  entrance.  With  many  variations,  suggested 
by  the  nature  of  his  building-materials,  diversity  of 
climate,  and  a  different  mode  of  social  life,  Governor 
Bellingham  had  planned  his  new  habitation  after  the 
residences  of  gentlemen  of  fair  estate  in  his  native  land. 
Here,  then,  was  a  wide  and  reasonably  lofty  hall,  ex- 
tending through  the  whole  depth  of  the  house,  and 
forming  a  medium  of  general  communication,  more  or 
less  directly,  with  all  the  other  apartments.  At  one 
extremity,  this  spacious  room  was  lighted  by  the  win- 
dows of  the  two  towers,  which  formed  a  small  recess  on 
either  side  of  the  portal.  At  the  other  end,  though 
partly  muffled  by  a  curtain,  it  was  more  powerfully 
illuminated  by  one  of  those  embowed  hall-windows 
which  we  read  of  in  old  books,  and  which  was  provided 
with  a  keep  and  cushioned  seat.  Here,  on  the  cushion, 
lay  a  folio  tome,  probably  of  the  Chronicles  of  England, 
or  other  such  substantial  literature ;  even  as,  in  our  own 
days,  we  scatter  gilded  volumes  on  the  centre-table,  to 
be  turned  over  by  the  casual  guest.  The  furniture  of 
the  hall  consisted  of  some  ponderous  chairs,  the  backs 


120  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  which  were  elaborately  carved  with  wreaths  of  oaken 
flowers ;  and  likewise  a  table  in  the  same  taste ;  the 
whole  being  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  or  perhaps  earlier, 
and  heirlooms,  transferred  hither  from  the  Governor's 
paternal  home.  On  the  table  —  in  token  that  the  sen- 
timent of  old  English  hospitality  had  not  been  left 
behind  —  stood  a  large  pewter  tankard,  at  the  bottom  of 
which,  had  Hester  or  Pearl  peeped  into  it,  they  might 
have  seen  the  frothy  remnant  of  a  recent  draught  of 
ale. 

On  the  wall  hung  a  row  of  portraits,  representing  the 
forefathers  of  the  Bellingham  lineage,  some  with  armor 
on  their  breasts,  and  others  with  stately  ruffs  and  robes 
of  peace.  All  were  characterized  by  the  sternness  and 
severity  which  old  portraits  so  invariably  put  on ;  as  if 
they  were  the  ghosts,  rather  than  the  pictures,  of  de- 
parted worthies,  and  were  gazing  with  harsh  and  intol- 
erant criticism  at  the  pursuits  and  enjoyments  of  living 
men. 

At  about  the  centre  of  the  oaken  panels,  that  lined 
the  hall,  was  suspended  a  suit  of  mail,  not,  like  the 
pictures,  an  ancestral  relic,  but  of  the  most  modern  date ; 
for  it  had  been  manufactured  by  a  skilful  armorer  in 
London,  the  same  year  in  which  Governor  Bellingham 
came  over  to  New  England.  There  was  a  steel  head- 
piece, a  cuirass,  a  gorget,  and  greaves,  with  a  pair  of 
gauntlets  and  a  sword  hanging  beneath ;  all,  and  espec- 
ially the  helmet  and  breastplate,  so  highly  burnished 
as  to  glow  with  white  radiance,  and  scatter  an  illumina- 
tion everywhere  about  upon  the  floor,  This  bright 
panoply  was  not  meant  for  mere  idle  show,  but  had 
been  worn  by  the  Governor  on  many  a  solemn  muster 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL.  121 

and  training  field,  and  had  glittered,  moreover,  at  the 
head  of  a  regiment  in  the  Pequod  war.  For,  though 
bred  a  lawyer,  and  accustomed  to  speak  of  Bacon,  Coke, 
Noye,  and  Finch,  as  his  professional  associates,  the  ex- 
igences of  this  new  country  had  transformed  Governor 
Bellingham  into  a  soldier,  as  well  as  a  statesman  and 
ruler. 

Little  Pearl — who  was  as  greatly  pleased  with  the 
gleaming  armor  as  she  had  been  with  the  glittering  fron- 
tispiece of  the  house  —  spent  some  time  looking  into  the 
polished  mirror  of  the  breastplate. 

"  Mother,"  cried  she,  "  I  see  you  here.  Look  ! 
Look ! " 

Hester  looked,  by  way  of  humoring  the  child ;  and 
she  saw  that,  owing  to  the  peculiar  effect  of  this  con- 
vex mirror,  the  scarlet  letter  was  represented  in  exagger- 
ated and  gigantic  proportions,  so  as  to  be  greatly  the 
most  prominent  feature  of  her  appearance.  In  truth, 
she  seemed  absolutely  hidden  behind  it.  Pearl  pointed 
upward,  also,  at  a  similar  picture  in  the  head-piece ; 
smiling  at  her  mother,  with  the  elfish  intelligence  that 
was  so  familiar  an  expression  on  her  small  physiognomy. 
That  look  of  naughty  merriment  was  likewise  reflected 
in  the  mirror,  with  so  much  breadth  and  intensity  of 
effect,  that  it  made  Hester  Prynne  feel  as  if  it  could  not 
be  the  image  of  her  own  child,  but  of  an  imp  who  was 
seeking  to  mould  itself  into  Pearl's  shape. 

"  Come  along,  Pearl,"  said  she,  drawing  her  away. 
"  Come  and  look  into  this  fair  garden.  It  may  be,  we 
shall  see  flowers  there ;  more  beautiful  ones  than  we  find 
in  the  woods." 

Pearl,  accordingly,  ran  to  the  bow-window,  at    the 


122  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

further  end  of  the  hall,  and  looked  along  the  vista  of 
a  garden-walk,  carpeted  with  closely  shaven  grass,  and 
bordered  with  some  rude  and  immature  attempt  at  shrub- 
bery. But  the  proprietor  appeared  already  to  have  re- 
linquished, as  hopeless,  the  effort  to  perpetuate  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  in  a  hard  soil  and  amid  the  close 
struggle  for  subsistence,  the  native  English  taste  for 
ornamental  gardening.  Cabbages  grew  in  plain  sight; 
and  a  pumpkin-vine,  rooted  at  some  distance,  had  run 
across  the  intervening  space,  and  deposited  one  of  its 
gigantic  products  directly  beneath  the  hall-window ;  as 
if  to  warn  the  Governor  that  this  great  lump  of  vegetable 
gold  was  as  rich  an  ornament  as  New  England  earth 
would  offer  him.  There  were  a  few  rose-bushes,  how- 
ever, and  a  number  of  apple-trees,  probably  the  descend- 
ants of  those  planted  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Blackstone, 
the  first  settler  of  the  peninsula ;  that  half  mythological 
personage,  who  rides  through  our  early  annals,  seated  on 
the  back  of  a  bull. 

Pearl,  seeing  the  rose-bushes,  began  to  cry  for  a  red 
rose,  and  would  not  be  pacified. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush ! "  said  her  mother,  earnestly. 
u  Do  not  cry,  dear  little  Pearl !  I  hear  voices  in  the 
garden.  The  Governor  is  coming,  and  gentlemen  along 
with  him ! " 

In  fact,  adown  the  vista  of  the  garden  avenue,  a  num- 
ber of  persons  were  seen  approaching  towards  the  house. 
Pearl,  in  utter  scorn  of  her  mother's  attempt  to  quiet  her, 
gave  an  eldritch  scream,  and  then  became  silent;  not 
from  any  notion  of  obedience,  but  because  the  quick  and 
mobile  curiosity  of  her  disposition  was  excited  by  the 
appearance  of  thess  new  personages. 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND    THE    MINISTER.  122 


VIII. 

THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE  MINISTER. 

GOVERNOR  BELLINGHAM,  in  a  loose  gown  and  easy 
cap,  —  such  as  elderly  gentlemen  loved  to  endue  them- 
selves with,  in  their  domestic  privacy,  —  walked  fore- 
most, and  appeared  to  be  showing  off  his  estate,  and 
expatiating  on  his  projected  improvements.  The  wide 
circumference  of  an  elaborate  ruff,  beneath  his  gray 
beard,  in  the  antiquated  fashion  of  King  James'  reign, 
caused  his  head  to  look  not  a  little  like  that  of  John  the 
Baptist  in  a  charger.  The  impression  made  by  his 
aspect,  so  rigid  and  severe,  and  frost-bitten  with  more 
than  autumnal  age,  was  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  ap- 
pliances of  worldly  enjoyment  wherewith  he  had  evi- 
dently done  his  utmost  to  surround  himself.  But  it  is 
an  error  to  suppose  that  our  grave  forefathers  —  though 
accustomed  to  speak  and  think  of  human  existence  a*s  a 
state  merely  of  trial  and  warfare,  and  though  unfeignedly 
prepared  to  sacrifice  goods  and  life  at  the  behest  of  duty 
—  made  it  a  matter  of  conscience  to  reject  such  means 
of  comfort,  or  even  luxury,  as  lay  fairly  within  their 
grasp.  This  creed  was  never  taught,  for  instance,  by 
the  venerable  pastor,  John  Wilson,  whose  beard,  white 
as  a  snow-drift,  was  seen  over  Governor  Bellingham'a 
shoulder;  while  its  wearer  suggested  that  pears  and 
peaches  might  yet  be  naturalized  in  the  New  England 
climate,  and  that  purple  grapes  might  possibly  be  com- 
pelled to  nourish,  against  the  sunny  garden-wall.  The 


124  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

old  clergyman,  nurtured  at  the  rich  bosom  of  the  Eng- 
lish Church,  had  a  long-established  and  legitimate  taste 
for  all  good  and  comfortable  things ;  and  however  stern 
he  might  show  himself  in  the  pulpit,  or  in  his  public 
reproof  of  such  transgressions  as  that  of  Hester  Prynne, 
etill,  the  genial  benevolence  of  his  private  life  had  won 
him  warmer  affection  than  was  accorded  to  any  of  his 
professional  contemporaries. 

Behind  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Wilson  came  two  other 
guests ;  one,  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  whom 
the  reader  may  remember,  as  having  taken  a  brief  and 
reluctant  part  in  the  scene  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace  ; 
arid,  in  close  companionship  with  him,  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  a  person  of  great  skill  in  physic,  who,  for  two 
or  three  years  past,  had  been  settled  in  the  town.  It 
was  understood  that  this  learned  man  was  the  physician 
as  well  as  friend  of  the  young  minister,  whose  health 
had  severely  suffered,  of  late,  by  his  too  unreserved  self- 
sacrifice  to  the  labors  and  duties  of  the  pastoral  rela- 
tion. 

The  Governor,  in  advance  of  his  visitors,  ascended 
one  or  two  steps,  and,  throwing  open  the  leaves  of  the 
great  hall  window,  found  himself  close  to  little  Pearl. 
The  shadow  of  the  curtain  fell  on  Hester  Prynne,  and 
partially  concealed  her. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  said  Governor  Bellingham, 
looking  with  surprise  at  the  scarlet  little  figure  before 
him.  "  I  profess,  I  have  never  seen  the  like,  since  my 
days  of  vanity,  in  old  King  James'  time,  when  I  was 
wont  to  esteem  it  a  high  favor  to  be  admitted  to  a  court 
mask !  There  used  to  be  a  swarm  of  these  small  ap- 
paritions, in  holiday  time  ;  and  we  called  them  children 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND   THE    MINISTER.  125 

of  the  Lord  of  Misrule.  But  how  gat  such  a  guest  into 
my  hall  ? " 

"Ay,  indeed!  "  cried  good  old  Mr.  Wilson.  "What 
little  bird  of  scarlet  plumage  may  this  be  ?  Methinks 
I  have  seen  just  such  figures,  when  the  sun  has  been 
shining  through  a  richly  painted  window,  and  tracing 
out  the  golden  and  crimson  images  across  the  floor. 
But  that  was  in  the  old  land.  Prithee,  young  one,  who 
art  thou,  and  what  has  ailed  thy  mother  to  bedizen  thee 
in  this  strange  fashion  ?  Art  thou  a  Christian  child,  — 
ha  ?  Dost  know  thy  catechism  ?  Or  art  thou  one  of 
those  naughty  elfs  or  fairies,  whom  we  thought  to  have 
left  behind  us,  with  other  relics  of  Papistry,  in  merry 
old  England  ? " 

"  I  am  mother's  child,"  answered  the  scarlet  vision, 
"  and  my  name  is  Pearl !  " 

"  Pearl  ?  —  Ruby,  rather !  —  or  Coral !  —  or  Red  Rose, 
at  the  very  least,  judging  from  thy  hue  !  "  responded  the 
old  minister,  putting  forth  his  hand  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
pat  little  Pearl  on  the  cheek.  "  But  where  is  this  mother 
of  thine  ?  Ah !  I  see,"  he  added  ;  and,  turning  to  Gov- 
ernor Bellingham,  whispered,  "  This  is  the  selfsame 
child  of  whom  we  have  held  speech  together;  and 
behold  here  the  unhappy  woman,  Hester  Prynne,  her 
mother ! " 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ? "  cried  the  Governor.  "  Nay,  we 
might  have  judged  that  such  a  child's  mother  must  needs 
be  a  scarlet  woman,  and  a  worthy  type  of  her  of  Baby- 
lon !  But  she  comes  at  a  good  time  ;  and  we  will  look 
into  this  matter  forthwith." 

Governor  Bellingham  stepped  through  the  window 
into  the  hall,  followed  by  his  three  guests. 


126  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  fixing  his  naturally  stern 
regard  on  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter,  "  there  hath 
been  much  question  concerning  thee,  of  late.  The 
point  hath  been  weightily  discussed,  whether  we,  that 
are  of  authority  and  influence,  do  well  discharge  our 
consciences  by  trusting  an  immortal  soul,  such  as  there 
is  in  yonder  child,  to  the  guidance  of  one  who  hath 
stumbled  and  fallen,  amid  the  pitfalls  of  this  world. 
Speak  thou,  the  child's  own  mother!  Were  it  not, 
thinkest  thou,  for  thy  little  one's  temporal  and  eternal 
welfare,  that  she  be  taken  out  of  thy  charge,  and  clad 
soberly,  and  disciplined  strictly,  and  instructed  in  the 
truths  of  heaven  and  earth  ?  What  canst  thou  do  for 
the  child,  in  this  kind?" 

"I  can  teach  my  little  Pearl  what  I  have  learned 
from  this ! "  answered  Hester  Prynne,  laying  her  finger 
on  the  red  token. 

"  Woman,  it  is  thy  badge  of  shame ! "  replied  the  stern 
magistrate.  "  It  is  because  of  the  stain  which  that  letter 
indicates,  that  we  would  transfer  thy  child  to  other 
hands." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  mother,  calmly,  though 
growing  more  pale,  "  this  badge  hath  taught  me,  —  it 
daily  teaches  me,  —  it  is  teaching  me  at  this  moment, 

—  lessons   whereof  my  child  may  be   the   wiser  and 
better,  albeit  they  can  profit  nothing  to  myself." 

"  We  will  judge  warily,"  said  Bellingham,  "  and  look 
well  what  we  are  about  to  do.  Good  Master  Wilson,  1 
pray  you,  examine  this  Pearl,  —  since  that  is  her  name* 

—  and  see  whether  she  hath  had  such  Christian  nurture 
a*  befits  a  child  of  her  age." 

The  old  minister  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair,  and 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.  127 

made  an  effort  to  draw  Pearl  betwixt  his  knees.  But 
the  child,  unaccustomed  to  the  touch  or  familiarity  of 
any  but  her  mother,  escaped  through  the  open  window, 
and  stood  on  the  upper  step,  looking  like  a  wild  tropical 
bird,  of  rich  plumage,  ready  to  take  flight  into  the  upper 
air.  Mr.  Wilson,  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  out- 
break, —  for  he  was  a  grandfatherly  sort  of  personage, 
and  usually  a  vast  favorite  with  children,  —  essayed, 
however,  to  proceed  with  the  examination. 

"  Pearl,"  said  he,  with  great  solemnity,  "  thou  must 
take  heed  to  instruction,  that  so,  in  due  season,  thou 
mayest  wear  in  thy  bosom  the  pearl  of  great  price. 
Canst  thou  tell  me,  my  child,  who  made  thee  ? " 

Now  Pearl  knew  well  enough  who  made  her;  for 
Hester  Prynne,  the  daughter  of  a  pious  home,  very  soon 
after  her  talk  with  the  child  about  her  Heavenly 
Father,  had  begun  to  inform  her  of  those  truths  which 
the  human  spirit,  at  whatever  stage  of  immaturity, 
imbibes  with  such  eager  interest.  Pearl,  therefore,  so 
large  were  the  attainments  of  her  three  years'  lifetime, 
could  have  borne  a  fair  examination  in  the  New  England 
Primer,  or  the  first  column  of  the  Westminster  Cate- 
chisms, although  unacquainted  with  the  outward  form 
of  either  of  those  celebrated  works.  But  that  perversity, 
which  all  children  have  more  or  less  of,  and  of  which 
little  Pearl  had  a  ten-fold  portion,  now,  at  the  most  inop- 
portune moment,  took  thorough  possession  of  her,  and 
closed  her  lips,  or  impelled  her  to  speak  words  amiss. 
After  putting  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  with  many 
ungracious  refusals  to  answer  good  Mr.  Wilson's  ques- 
tion, the  child  finally  announced  that  she  had  not  been 
made  at  all,  but  had  been  plucked  by  her  mother 


128  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

off  the  bush  of  wild  roses  that  grew  by  the  prison- 
door. 

This  fantasy  was  probably  suggested  by  the  near 
proximity  of  the  Governor's  red  roses,  as  Pearl  stood 
outside  of  the  window ;  together  with  her  recollection 
of  the  prison  rose-bush,  which  she  had  passed  in  coming 
hither. 

Old  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
whispered  something  in  the  young  clergyman's  ear. 
Hester  Prynne  looked  at  the  man  of  skill,  and  even 
then,  with  her  fate  hanging  in  the  balance,  was  startled 
to  perceive  what  a  change  had  come  over  his  features, 
—  how  much  uglier  they  were,  —  how  his  dark  com- 
plexion seemed  to  have  grown  duskier,  and  his  figure 
more  misshapen,  —  since  the  days  when  she  had  famil- 
iarly known  him.  She  met  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  but 
was  immediately  constrained  to  give  all  her  attention  to 
the  scene  now  going  forward. 

"  This  is  awful ! "  cried  the  Governor,  slowly  recov- 
ering from  the  astonishment  into  which  Pearl's  response 
had  thrown  him.  "  Here  is  a  child  of  three  years  old, 
and  she  cannot  tell  who  made  her !  Without  question, 
she  is  equally  in  the  dark  as  to  her  soul,  its  present 
depravity,  and  future  destiny !  Methinks,  gentlemen, 
we  need  inquire  no  further." 

Hester  caught  hold  of  Pearl,  and  drew  her  forcibly 
into  her  arms,  confronting  the  old  Puritan  magistrate 
with  almost  a  fierce  expression.  Alone  in  the  world, 
cast  off  by  it,  and  with  this  sole  treasure  to  keep  her 
heart  alive,  she  felt  that  she  possessed  indefeasible 
rights  against  the  world,  and  was  ready  to  defend  them 
to  the  death. 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND   THE    MINISTER.  129 

"  God  gave  me  the  child ! "  cried  she.  "  He  gave  her 
in  requital  of  all  things  else,  which  ye  had  taken  from 
me.  She  is  my  happiness !  —  she  is  my  torture,  none 
the  less !  Pearl  keeps  me  here  in  life !  Pearl  punishes 
me  too !  See  ye  not,  she  is  the  scarlet  letter,  only 
capable  of  being  loved,  and  so  endowed  with  a  million- 
fold  the  power  of  retribution  for  my  sin  ?  Ye  shall  not 
take  her !  I  will  die  first ! " 

"  My  poor  woman,"  said  the  not  unkind  old  minister, 
"the  child  shall  be  well  cared  for! — far  better  than 
thou  canst  do  it." 

"God  gave  her  into  my  keeping,"  repeated  Hester 
Pryrme,  raising  her  voice  almost  to  a  shriek.  "  I  will 
not  give  her  up  ! "  —  And  here,  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
she  turned  to  the  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
at  whom,  up  to  this  moment,  she  had  seemed  hardly  so 
much  as  once  to  direct  her  eyes.  —  "  Speak  thou  for 
me ! "  cried  she.  "  Thou  wast  my  pastor,  and  hadst 
charge  of  my  soul,  and  knowest  me  better  than  these 
men  can.  I  will  not  lose  the  child !  Speak  for  me ! 
Thou  knowest,  —  for  thou  hast  sympathies  which  these 
men  lack !  —  thou  knowest  what  is  in  my  heart,  and 
what  are  a  mother's  rights,  and  how  much  the  stronger 
they  are,  when  that  mother  has  but  her  child  and  the 
scarlet  letter!  Look  thou  to  it!  I  will  not  lose  the 
child !  Look  to  it ! " 

At  this  wild  and  singular  appeal,  which  indicated  that 
Hester  Prynne's  situation  had  provoked  her  to  little  less 
than  madness,  the  young  minister  at  once  came  forward, 
pale,  and  holding  his  hand  over  his  heart,  as  was  his 
custom  whenever  his  peculiarly  nervous  temperament 
was  thrown  into  agitation.  He  looked  now  more  care- 
9 


130  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

worn  and  emaciated  than  as  we  described  him  at  the 
scene  of  Hester's  public  ignominy ;  and  whether  it  were 
his  failing  health,  or  whatever  the  cause  might  be,  his 
large  dark  eyes  had  a  world  of  pain  in  their  troubled 
and  melancholy  depth. 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  she  says,"  began  the  minis- 
ter, with  a  voice  sweet,  tremulous,  but  powerful,  inso- 
much that  the  hall  reechoed,  and  the  hollow  armor  rang 
with  it,  —  "  truth  in  what  Hester  says,  and  in  the  feel- 
ing which  inspires  her!  God  gave  her  the  child,  and 
gave  her,  too,  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  its  nature  and 
requirements,  —  both  seemingly  so  peculiar,  —  which  no 
other  mortal  being  can  possess.  Arid,  moreover,  is  there 
not  a  quality  of  awful  sacredness  in  the  relation  between 
this  mother  and  this  child  ? " 

"Ay!  —  how  is  that,  good  Master  Dimmesdale?" 
interrupted  the  Governor.  "Make  that  plain,  I  pray 
you!" 

"  It  must  be  even  so,"  resumed  the  minister.  "  For, 
if  we  deem  it  otherwise,  do  we  not  thereby  say  that  the 
Heavenly  Father,  the  Creator  of  all  flesh,  hath  lightly 
recognized  a  deed  of  sin,  and  made  of  no  account  the 
distinction  between  unhallowed  lust  and  holy  love? 
This  child  of  its  father's  guilt  and  its  mother's  shame 
hath  come  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  work  in  many 
ways  upon  her  heart,  who  pleads  so  earnestly,  and  with 
such  bitterness  of  spirit,  the  right  to  keep  her.  It  was 
meant  for  a  blessing ;  for  the  one  blessing  of  her  life  ! 
It  was  meant,  doubtless,  as  the  mother  herself  hath  told 
us,  for  a  retribution  too ;  a  torture  to  be  felt  at  many  an 
unthought  of  moment ;  a  pang,  a  sting,  an  ever-recur- 
ring agony,  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled  joy !  Hath  she 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.  131 

not  expressed  this  thought  in  the  garb  of  the  poor  child, 
so  forcibly  reminding  us  of  that  red  symbol  which  sears 
her  bosom  ? " 

"Well  said,  again!"  :ried  good  Mr.  Wilson.  "I 
feared  the  woman  had  no  better  thought  than  to  make 
a  mountebank  of  her  child ! " 

"  O,  not  so  !  —  not  so  ! "  continued  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
"  She  recognizes,  believe  me,  the  solemn  miracle  which 
God  hath  wrought,  in  the  existence  of  that  child.  And 
may  she  feel,  too,  —  what,  methinks,  is  the  very  truth 
—  that  this  boon  was  meant,  above  all  things  else,  to 
keep  the  mother's  soul  alive,  and  to  preserve  her  from 
blacker  depths  of  sin  into  which  Satan  might  else  have 
sought  to  plunge  her!  Therefore  it  is  good  for  this 
poor,  sinful  woman  that  she  hath  an  infant  immortality, 
a  being  capable  of  eternal  joy  or  sorrow,  confided  to 
her  care,  —  to  be  trained  up  by  her  to  righteousness,  — 
to  remind  her,  at  every  moment,  of  her  fall,  —  but  yet 
to  teach  her,  as  it  were  by  the  Creator's  sacred  pledge, 
that,  if  she  bring  the  child  to  heaven,  the  child  also 
will  bring  its  parent  thither!  Herein  is  the  sinful 
mother  happier  than  the  sinful  father.  For  Hester 
Prynne's  sake,  then,  and  no  less  for  the  poor  child's 
sake,  let  us  leave  them  as  Providence  hath  seen  fit  to 
place  them ! " 

"  You  speak,  my  friend,  with  a  strange  earnestness," 
said  old  Roger  Chill ingworth,  smiling  at  him. 

"  And  there  is  a  weighty  import  in  what  my  young 
brother  hath  spoken,"  added  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  What  say  you,  worshipful  Master  Bellingham  ?  Hath 
he  not  pleaded  well  for  the  poor  woman  ?  " 

"  Indeed  hath  he,"  answered  the  magistrate,  "  and  hath 


132  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

adduced  such  arguments,  that  we  will  even  leave  the 
matter  as  it  now  stands  ;  so  long,  at  least,  as  there  shaU 
be  no  further  scandal  in  the  woman.  Care  must  be  had, 
nevertheless,  to  put  the  child  to  due  and  stated  examina- 
tion in  the  catechism,  at  thy  hands  or  Master  Dimmes- 
dale's.  Moreover,  at  a  proper  season,  the  tithing-men 
must  take  heed  that  she  go  both  to  school  and  to  meet 
ing." 

The  young  minister,  on  ceasing  to  speak,  had  with- 
drawn a  few  steps  from  the  group,  and  stood  with  his  face 
partially  concealed  in  the  heavy  folds  of  the  window- 
certain  ;  while  the  shadow  of  his  figure,  which  the  sunlight 
cast  upon  the  floor,  was  tremulous  with  the  vehemence 
of  his  appeal.  Pearl,  that  wild  and  flighty  little  elf, 
stole  softly  towards  him,  and  taking  his  hand  in  the  grasp 
of  both  her  own,  laid  her  cheek  against  it ;  a  caress  so 
tender,  and  withal  so  unobtrusive,  that  her  mother,  who 
was  looking  on,  asked  herself,  —  "Is  that  my  Pearl?" 
Yet  she  knew  that  there  wras  love  in  the  child's  heart, 
although  it  mostly  revealed  itself  in  passion,  and  hardly 
twice  in  her  lifetime  had  been  softened  by  such  gentle- 
ness as  now.  The  minister,  —  for,  save  the  long-sought 
regards  of  woman,  nothing  is  sweeter  than  these  marks 
of  childish  preference,  accorded  spontaneously  by  a  spir- 
itual instinct,  and  therefore  seeming  to  imply  in  us  some- 
thing truly  worthy  to  be  loved, — the  minister  looked 
round,  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's  head,  hesitated  an  in- 
stant, and  then  kissed  her  brow.  Little  Pearl's  unwonted 
mood  of  sentiment  lasted  no  longer;  she  laughed,  and 
went  capering  down  the  hall,  so  airily,  that  old  Mr.  Wil 
son  raised  a  question  whether  even  her  tiptoes  touched 
the  floor. 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND   THE    MINISTER.  133 

14  The  little  baggage  hath  witchcraft  in  her,  I  profess/ 
said  he  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  She  needs  no  old  woman's 
broomstick  to  fly  withal !  " 

"  A  strange  child  !  "  remarked  old  Koger  Chillingworth. 
"  It  is  easy  to  see  the  mother's  part  in  her.  Would  it  be 
beyond  a  philosopher's  research,  think  ye,  gentlemen,  to 
analyze  that  child's  nature,  and,  from  its  make  and  mould, 
to  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  father  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  it  would  be  sinful,  in  such  a  question,  to  fol- 
low the  clew  of  profane  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  Better  to  fast  and  pray  upon  it ;  and  still  better,  it  may 
be,  to  leave  the  mystery  as  we  find  it,  unless  Providence 
reveal  it  of  its  own  accord.  Thereby,  every  good  Chris- 
tian man  hath  a  title  to  show  a  father's  kindness  towards 
the  poor,  deserted  babe." 

The  affair  being  so  satisfactorily  concluded,  Hester 
Prynne,  with  Pearl,  departed  from  the  house.  As  they 
descended  the  steps,  it  is  averred  that  the  lattice  of  a 
chamber- window  was  thrown  open,  and  forth  into  the 
sunny  day  was  thrust  the  face  of  Mistress  Hibbins,  Gov- 
ernor Bellingham's  bitter-tempered  sister,  and  the  same 
who,  a  few  years  later,  was  executed  as  a  witch. 

"  Hist,  hist !  "  said  she,  while  her  ill-omened  physiog- 
nomy seemed  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  cheerful  newness 
of  the  house.  "  Wilt  thou  go  with  us  to-night?  There 
will  be  a  merry  company  in  the  forest ;  and  I  well-nigh 
promised  the  Black  Man  that  comely  Hester  Prynne 
should  make  one." 

"  Make  my  excuse  to  him,  so  please  you !  "  answered 
Hester,  with  a  triumphant  smile.  "  I  must  tarry  at  home, 
and  keep  watch  over  my  little  Pearl.  Had  they  taken 
her  from  me,  I  would  willingly  have  gone  with  thee  into 


134  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  forest,  and  signed  my  name  in  the  Black  Man's  book 
too,  and  that  with  mine  own  blood !  " 

"  We  shall  have  thee  there  anon !  "  said  the  witch- 
lady,  frowning,  as  she  drew  back  her  head. 

But  here  —  if  we  suppose  this  interview  betwixt  Mis- 
tress Hibbins  and  Hester  Prynne  to  be  authentic,  and  not 
a  parable  —  was  already  an  illustration  of  the  young 
minister's  argument  against  sundering  the  relation  of  a 
fallen  mother  to  the  offspring  of  her  frailty.  Even  thus 
early  had  the  child  saved  her  from  Satan's  snare. 


THE    LEECH.  135 


IX. 

THE  LEECH. 

UNDER  the  appellation  of  Roger  Chillingworth,  the 
reader  will  remember,  was  hidden  another  name,  which 
its  former  wearer  had  resolved  should  never  more  be 
spoken.  It  has  been  related,  how,  in  the  crowd  that  wit- 
nessed Hester  Prynne's  ignominious  exposure,  stood  a 
man,  elderly,  travel-worn,  who,  just  emerging  from  the 
perilous  wilderness,  beheld  the  woman,  in  whom  he  hoped 
to  find  embodied  the  warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  home, 
set  up  as  a  type  of  sin  before  the  people.  Her  matronly 
fame  was  trodden  under  all  men's  feet.  Infamy  was  bab- 
bling around  her  in  the  public  market-place.  For  her 
kindred,  should  the  tidings  ever  reach  them,  and  for  the 
companions  of  her  unspotted  life,  there  remained  nothing 
but  the  contagion  of  her  dishonor ;  which  would  not  fail 
to  be  distributed  in  strict  accordance  and  proportion  with 
the  intimacy  and  sacredness  of  their  previous  relation- 
ship. Then  why  —  since  the  choice  was  with  himself — 
should  the  individual,  whose  connection  with  the  fallen 
woman  had  been  the  most  intimate  and  sacred  of  them 
all,  come  forward  to  vindicate  his  claim  to  an  inheritance 
so  little  desirable  ?  He  resolved  not  to  be  pilloried  beside 
her  on  her  pedestal  of  shame.  Unknown  to  all  but  Hes- 
ter Prynne,  and  possessing  the  lock  and  key  of  her  silence, 
he  chose  to  withdraw  his  name  from  the  roll  of  mankind, 
and,  as  regarded  his  former  ties  and  interests,  to  vanish 
out  of  life  as  completely  as  if  he  indeed  lay  at  the  bottom 


136  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  the  ocean,  whither  rumor  had  long  ago  consigned  him. 
This  purpose  once  effected,  new  interests  would  imme- 
diately spring  up,  and  likewise  a  new  purpose ;  dark,  it 
is  true,  if  not  guilty,  but  of  force  enough  to  engage  the 
full  strength  of  his  faculties. 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolve,  he  took  up  his  residence 
in  the  Puritan  town,  as  Roger  Chillingworth,  without 
other  introduction  than  the  learning  and  intelligence  of 
which  he  possessed  more  than  a  common  measure.  As 
his  studies,  at  a  previous  period  of  his  life,  had  made  him 
extensively  acquainted  with  the  medical  science  of  the 
day,  it  was  as  a  physician  that  he  presented  himself,  and 
as  such  was  cordially  received.  Skilful  men,  of  the 
medical  and  chirurgical  profession,  were  of  rare  occur- 
rence in  the  colony.  They  seldom,  it  would  appear,  par- 
took of  the  religious  zeal  that  brought  other  emigrants 
across  the  Atlantic.  In  their  researches  into  the  human 
frame,  it  may  be  that  the  higher  and  more  subtile  facul- 
ties of  such  men  were  materialized,  and  that  they  lost 
the  spiritual  view  of  existence  amid  the  intricacies  of  that 
wondrous  mechanism,  which  seemed  to  involve  art  enough 
to  comprise  all  of  life  within  itself.  At  all  events,  the 
health  of  the  good  town  of  Boston,  so  far  as  medicine 
had  aught  to  do  with  it,  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  guardian- 
ship of  an  aged  deacon  and  apothecary,  whose  piety  and 
godly  deportment  were  stronger  testimonials  in  his  favor 
than  any  that  he  could  have  produced  in  the  shape  of  a 
diploma.  The  only  surgeon  was  one  who  combined  the 
occasional  exercise  of  that  noble  art  with  the  daily  and 
habitual  flourish  of  a  razor.  To  such  a  professional  body 
Koger  Chillingworth  was  a  brilliant  acquisition.  He  soon 
manifested  his  familiarity  with  the  ponderous  and  impos- 


THE    LEECH.  137 

ing  machinery  of  antique  physic  ;  in  which  every  remedy 
contained  a  multitude  of  far-fetched  and  heterogeneous 
ingredients,  as  elaborately  compounded  as  if  the  proposed 
result  had  been  the  Elixir  of  Life.  In  his  Indian  cap- 
tivity, moreover,  he  had  gained  much  knowledge  of  the 
properties  of  native  herbs  and  roots ;  nor  did  he  conceal 
from  his  patients,  that  these  simple  medicines,  Nature's 
boon  to  the  untutored  savage,  had  quite  as  large  a  share 
of  his  own  confidence  as  the  European  pharmacopoeia, 
which  so  many  learned  doctors  had  spent  centuries  in 
elaborating. 

This  learned  stranger  was  exemplary,  as  regarded,  at 
least,  the  outward  forms  of  a  religious  life,  and,  early  after 
his  arrival,  had  chosen  for  his  spiritual  guide  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  young  divine,  whose  scholar-like 
renown  still  lived  in  Oxford,  was  considered  by  his  more 
fervent  admirers  as  little  less  than  a  heavenly-ordained 
apostle,  destined,  should  he  live  and  labor  for  the  ordi- 
nary term  of  life,  to  do  as  great  deeds  for  the  now  feeble 
New  England  Church,  as  the  early  Fathers  had  achieved 
for  the  infancy  of  the  Christian  faith.  About  this  period, 
however,  the  health  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  evidently 
begun  to  fail.  By  those  best  acquainted  with  his  habits, 
the  paleness  of  the  young  minister's  cheek  was  accounted 
for  by  his'too  earnest  devotion  to  study,  his  scrupulous 
fulfilment  of  parochial  duty,  and,  more  than  all,  by  the 
fasts  and  vigils  of  which  he  made  a  frequent  practice,  in 
order  to  keep  the  grossness  of  this  earthly  state  from 
clogging  and  obscuring  his  spiritual  lamp.  Some  declared, 
that,  if  Mr.  Dimmesdale  were  really  going  to  die,  it  was 
cause  enough,  that  the  world  was  not  worthy  to  be  any 
longer  trodden  by  his  feet.  He  himself,  on  the  other 


133  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

hand,  with  characteristic  humility,  avowed  his  belief, 
that,  if  Providence  should  see  fit  to  remove  him,  it 
would  be  because  of  his  own  unworthiness  to  perform  its 
humblest  mission  here  on  earth.  With  all  this  differ- 
ence of  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  his  decline,  there 
could  be  no  question  of  the  fact.  His  form  grew  ema- 
ciated ;  his  voice,  though  still  rich  and  sweet,  had  a  cer- 
tain melancholy  prophecy  of  decay  in  it ;  he  was  often 
observed,  on  any  slight  alarm  or  other  sudden  accident, 
to  put  his  hand  over  his  heart,  with  first  a  flush  and 
then  a  paleness,  indicative  of  pain. 

Such  was  the  young  clergyman's  condition,  and  so 
imminent  the  prospect  that  his  dawning  light  would  be 
extinguished,  all  untimely,  when  Roger  Chillingworth 
made  his  advent  to  the  town.  His  first  entry  on  the 
scene,  few  people  could  tell  whence,  dropping  down, 
as  it  were,  out  of  the  sky,  or  starting  from  the  nether 
earth,  had  an  aspect  of  mystery,  which  was  easily 
heightened  to  the  miraculous.  He  was  now  known  to 
be  a  man  of  skill ;  it  was  observed  that  he  gathered 
herbs,  and  the  blossoms  of  wild-flowers,  and  dug  up 
roots,  and  plucked  off  twigs  from  the  forest-trees,  like 
one  acquainted  with  hidden  virtues  in  what  was  value- 
less to  common  eyes.  He  was  heard  to  speak  of  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby,  and  other  famous  men,  —  whose  scien- 
tific attainments  were  esteemed  hardly  less  than  super- 
natural,—  as  having  been  his  correspondents  or  asso- 
ciates. Why,  with  such  rank  in  the  learned  world,  had 
he  come  hither  ?  What  could  he,  whose  sphere  was  in 
great  cities,  be  seeking  in  the  wilderness  ?  In  answer 
to  this  query,  a  rumor  gained  ground,  —  and,  however 
absurd,  was  entertained  by  some  very  sensible  people, 


THE    LEECH.  139 

—  that  Heaven  had  wrought  an  absolute  miracle,  by 
transporting  an  eminent  Doctor  of  Physic,  from  a  Ger- 
man university,  bodily  through  the  air,  and  setting  him 
down  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  study  !  Individ- 
uals of  wiser  faith,  indeed,  who  knew  that  Heaven  pro- 
motes its  purposes  without  aiming  at  the  stage-effect  of 
what  is  called  miraculous  interposition,  were  inclined  to 
see  a  providential  hand  in  Roger  Chillingworth's  so 
opportune  arrival. 

This  idea  was  countenanced  by  the  strong  interest 
which  the  physician  ever  manifested  in  the  young  cler- 
gyman ;  he  attached  himself  to  him  as  a  parishioner, 
and  sought  to  win  a  friendly  regard  and  confidence  from 
his  naturally  reserved  sensibility.  He  expressed  great 
alarm  at  his  pastor's  state  of  health,  but  was  anxious  to 
attempt  the  cure,  and,  if  early  undertaken,  seemed  not 
despondent  of  a  favorable  result.  The  elders,  the  dea- 
cons, the  motherly  dames,  and  the  young  and  fair  maid- 
ens, of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  flock,  were  alike  importunate 
that  he  should  make  trial  of  the  physician's  frankly 
offered  skill.  Mr.  Dimmesdale  gently  repelled  their 
entreaties. 

"  I  need  no  medicine,"  said  he. 

But  how  could  the  young  minister  say  so,  when,  with 
every  successive  Sabbath,  his  cheek  was  paler  and  thin- 
ner, and  his  voice  more  tremulous  than  before,  —  when 
it  had  now  become  a  constant  habit,  rather  than  a  casual 
gesture,  to  press  his  hand  over  his  heart?  Was  he 
weary  of  his  labors  ?  Did  he  wish  to  die  ?  These  ques- 
tions were  solemnly  Dropounded  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  by 
the  elder  ministers  of  Boston  and  the  deacons  of  his 
church,  who,  to  use  their  own  phrase,  "  dealt  with  him  * 


140  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

on  the  sin  of  rejecting  the  aid  which  Prov^deii^e  so  man- 
ifestly held  out.  He  listened  in  silence,  and  finally 
promised  to  confer  with  the  physician. 

"  Were  it  God's  will,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale,  when,  in  fulfilment  of  this  pledge,  he  requested 
old  Roger  Chillingworth's  professional  advice,  "  I  could 
be  well  content,  that  my  labors,  and  my  sorrows,  and  my 
sins,  and  my  pains,  should  shortly  end  with  me,  and 
what  is  earthly  of  them  be  buried  in  my  grave,  and  the 
spiritual  go  with  me  to  my  eternal  state,  rather  than 
that  you  should  put  your  skill  to  the  proof  in  my 
behalf." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  that  quiet- 
ness which,  whether  imposed  or  natural,  marked  all  his 
deportment,  "  it  is  thus  that  a  young  clergyman  is  apt 
to  speak.  Youthful  men,  not  having  taken  a  deep  root, 
give  up  their  hold  of  life  so  easily !  And  saintly  men, 
who  walk  with  God  on  earth,  would  fain  be  away,  to 
walk  with  him  on  the  golden  pavements  of  the  New 
Jerusalem." 

"  Nay,"  rejoined  the  young  minister,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  heart,  with  a  flush  of  pain  flitting  over  his  brow, 
"  were  I  worthier  to  walk  there,  I  could  be  better  content 
to  toil  here." 

"Good  men  ever  interpret  themselves  too  meanly," 
said  the  physician. 

In  this  manner,  the  mysterious  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  became  the  medical  adviser  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  As  not  only  the  disease  interested  the 
physician,  but  he  was  strongly  moved  to  look  into  the 
character  and  qualities  of  the  patient,  these  two  men,  so 
different  in  age,  came  gradually  to  spend  much  time 


THE    LEECH.  141 

together.  For  the  sake  of  the  minister's  health,  and  to 
enable  the  leech  to  gather  plants  with  healing  balm  in 
them,  they  took  long  walks  on  the  sea-shore,  or  in  the 
forest ;  mingling  various  talk  with  the  plash  and  mur- 
mur of  the  waves,  and  the  solemn  wind-anthem  among 
the  tree-tops.  Often,  likewise,  one  war,  the  guest  of  the 
other,  in  his  place  of  study  and  retirement.  There  was 
a  fascination  for  the  minister  in  the  company  of  the  man 
of  science,  in  whom  he  recognized  an  intellectual  culti- 
vation of  no  moderate  depth  or  scope ;  together  with  a 
range  and  freedom  of  ideas,  that  he  would  have  vainly 
looked  for  among  the  members  of  his  own  profession. 
In  truth,  he  was  startled,  if  not  shocked,  to  find  this 
attribute  in  the  physician.  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  a  true 
priest,  a  true  religionist,  with  the  reverential  sentiment 
largely  developed,  and  an  order  of  mind  that  impelled 
itself  powerfully  along  the  track  of  a  creed,  and  wore  its 
passage  continually  deeper  with  the  lapse  of  time.  In 
no  state  of  society  would  he  have  been  what  is  called  a 
man  of  liberal  views  ;  it  would  always  be  essential  to 
his  peace  to  feel  the  pressure  of  a  faith  about  him,  sup- 
porting, while  it  confined  him  within  its  iron  framework. 
Not  the  less,  however,  though  with  a  tremulous  enjoy- 
ment, did  he  feel  the  occasional  relief  of  looking  at  the 
universe  through  the  medium  of  another  kind  of  intel- 
lect than  those  with  which  he  habitually  held  converse.  It 
was  as  if  a  window  were  thrown  open,  admitting  a  freer 
atmosphere  into  the  close  and  stifled  study,  where  his 
life  was  wasting  itself  away,  amid  lamp-light,  or  ob- 
structed day-beams,  and  the  musty  fragrance,  be  it  sen- 
sual or  moral,  that  exhales  from  books.  But  the  air  was 
too  fresh  and  chill  to  be  long  breathed  with  comfort.  So 


142  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  minister,  and  the  physician  with  him,  withdrew 
again  within  the  limits  of  what  their  church  defined  aa 
orthodox. 

Thus  Roger  Chillingworth  scrutinized  his  patient 
carefully,  both  as  he  saw  him  in  his  ordinary  life,  keep- 
ing an  accustomed  pathway  in  the  range  of  thoughts 
familiar  to  him,  and  as  he  appeared  when  thrown  amidst 
other  moral  scenery,  the  novelty  of  which  might  call  out 
something  new  to  the  surface  of  his  character.  He 
deemed  it  essential,  it  would  seem,  to  know  the  man, 
before  attempting  to  do  him  good.  Wherever  there  is  a 
heart  and  an  intellect,  the  diseases  of  the  physical  frame 
are  tinged  with  the  peculiarities  of  these.  In  Arthur 
Dimmesdale,  thought  and  imagination  were  so  active, 
and  sensibility  so  intense,  that  the  bodily  infirmity  would 
be  likely  to  have  its  ground-work  there.  So  Roger 
Chillingworth  — the  man  of  skill,  the  kind  and  friendly 
physician  —  strove  to  go  deep  into  his  patient's  bosom, 
delving  among  his  principles,  prying  into  his  recollec- 
tions, and  probing  everything  with  a  cautious  touch, 
like  a  treasure-seeker  in  a  dark  cavern.  Few  secrets 
can  escape  an  investigator,  who  has  opportunity  and 
license  to  undertake  such  a  quest,  and  skill  to  follow  it 
up.  A  man  burdened  with  a  secret  should  especially 
avoid  the  intimacy  of  his  physician.  If  the  latter  pos- 
sess native  sagacity,  and  a  nameless  something  more,  — 
let  us  call  it  intuition ;  if  he  show  no  intrusive  egotism, 
nor  disagreeably  prominent  characteristics  of  his  own ; 
if  he  have  the  power,  which  must  be  born  with  him,  to 
bring  his  mind  into  such  affinity  with  his  patient's,  that 
this  last  shall  unawares  have  spoken  what  he  imagines 
himself  only  to  have  thought;  if  such  revelations  be 


THE    LEECH.  143 

received  without  tumult,  and  acknowledged  not  so  often 
by  an  uttered  sympathy  as  by  silence,  an  inarticulate 
breath,  and  here  and  there  a  word,  to  indicate  that  all  is 
understood ;  if  to  these  qualifications  of  a  confidant  be 
joined  the  advantages  afforded  by  his  recognized  charac- 
ter as  a  physician  ;  —  then,  at  some  inevitable  moment, 
will  the  soul  of  the  sufferer  be  dissolved,  and  flow  forth 
in  a  dark,  but  transparent  stream,  bringing  all  its  myste- 
ries into  the  daylight. 

Roger  Chillingworth  possessed  all,  or  most,  of  the 
attributes  above  enumerated.  Nevertheless,  time  went 
on ;  a  kind  of  intimacy,  as  we  have  said,  grew  up  between 
these  two  cultivated  minds,  which  had  as  wide  a  field  as 
the  whole  sphere  of  human  thought  and  study,  to  meet 
upon  ;  they  discussed  every  topic  of  ethics  and  religion, 
of  public  affairs,  and  private  character;  they  talked  much, 
on  both  sides,  of  matters  that  seemed  personal  to  them- 
selves ;  and  yet  no  secret,  such  as  the  physician  fancied 
must  exist  there,  ever  stole  out  of  the  minister's  con- 
sciousness into  his  companion's  ear.  The  latter  had  his 
suspicions,  indeed,  that  even  the  nature  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  bodily  disease  had  never  fairly  been  revealed  to 
him.  It  was  a  strange  reserve  !  % 

After  a  time,  at  a  hint  from  Roger  Chillingworth,  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  effected  an  arrangement  by 
which  the  two  were  lodged  in  the  same  house ;  so  that 
every  ebb  and  flow  of  the  minister's  life-tide  might  pass 
under  the  eye  of  his  anxious  and  attached  physician. 
There  was  much  joy  throughout  the  town,  when  this 
greatly  desirable  object  was  attained.  It  was  held  to  be 
the  best  possible  measure  for  the  young  clergyman's 
welfare  :  unless,  indeed,  as  often  urged  by  such  as  felt 


144  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

authorized  to  do  so,  he  had  selected  some  one  of  the 
many  blooming  damsels,  spiritually  devoted  to  him,  to 
.become  his  devoted  wife.  This  latter  step,  however, 
there  was  no  present  prospect  that  Arthur  Dimmesdale 
would  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  ;  he  rejected  all  sugges- 
tions of  the  kind,  as  if  priestly  celibacy  were  one  of  his 
articles  of  church-discipline.  Doomed  by  his  own  choice, 
therefore,  as  Mr.  Dimmesdale  so  evidently  was,  to  eat 
his  unsavory  morsel  always  at  another's  board,  and  en- 
dure the  life-long  chill  which  must  be  his  lot  who  seeks 
to  warm  himself  only  at  another's  fireside,  it  truly  seemed 
that  this  sagacious,  experienced,  benevolent  old  physi- 
cian, with  his  concord  of  paternal  and  reverential  love 
for  the  young  pastor,  was  the  very  man,  of  all  mankind, 
to  be  constantly  within  reach  of  his  voice. 

The  new  abode  of  the  two  friends  was  with  a  pious 
widow,  of  good  social  rank,  who  dwelt  in  a  house  cover- 
ing pretty  nearly  the  site  on  which  the  venerable  struc- 
ture of  King's  Chapel  has  since  been  built.  It  had  the 
grave-yard,  originally  Isaac  Johnson's  home-field,  on  one 
side,  and  so  was  well  adapted  to  call  up  serious  reflec- 
tions, suited  to  their  respective  employments,  in  both 
ministqr  and  man  of  physic.  The  motherly  care  of  the 
good  widow  assigned  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  front  apart- 
ment, with  a  sunny  exposure,  and  heavy  window-curtains, 
to  create  a  noontide  shadow,  when  desirable.  The  walls 
were  hung  round  with  tapestry,  said  to  be  from  the 
Gobelin  looms,  and,  at  all  events,  representing  the  Scrip- 
tural story  of  David  and  Bathsheba,  and  Nathan  the 
Prophet,  in  colors  still  unfaded,  but  which  made  the  fair 
woman  of  the  scene  almost  as  grimly  picturesque  as  the 
woe-denouncing  seer.  Here,  the  pale  clergyman  piled 


THE    LEECH.  145 

up  his  library,  rich  with  parchment-bound  folios  of  the 
Fathers,  and  the  lore  of  Rabbis,  and  monkish  erudition, 
of  which  the  Protestant  divines,  even  while  they  vilified 
and  decried  that  class  of  writers,  were  yet  constrained 
often  to  avail  themselves.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  arranged  his  study  and 
laboratory ;  not  such  as  a  modem  man  of  science  would 
reckon  even  tolerably  complete,  but  provided  with  a  dis- 
tilling apparatus,  and  the  means  of  compounding  drugs 
and  chemicals,  which  the  practised  alchemist  knew  well 
how  to  turn  to  purpose.  With  such  commodiousness 
of  situation,  these  two  learned  persons  sat  themselves 
down,  each  in  his  own  domain,  yet  familiarly  passing 
from  one  apartment  to  the  other,  and  bestowing  a  mu- 
tual and  not  incurious  inspection  into  one  another's 
business. 

And  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale's  best  discern- 
ing friends,  as  we  have  intimated,  very  reasonably  imag- 
ined that  the  hand  of  Providence  had  done  all  this,  for 
the  purpose  —  besought  in  so  many  public,  and  domestic, 
and  secret  prayers  —  of  restoring  the  young  minister  to 
health.  But  —  it  must  now  be  said  —  another  portion 
of  the  community  had  latterly  begun  to  take  its  own  view 
of  the  relation  betwixt  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  the  myste- 
rious old  physician.  When  an  uninstructed  multitude 
attempts  to  see  with  its  eyes,  it  is  exceedingly  apt  to  be 
deceived.  When,  however,  it  forms  its  judgment,  as  it 
usually  does,  on  the  intuitions  of  its  great  and  warm 
heart,  the  conclusions  thus  attained  are  often  so  profound 
and  so  unerrmg,  as  to  possess  the  character  of  truths 
supernatu  rally  revealed.  The  people,  in  the  case  of 
which  we  speak,  could  justify  its  prejudice  against  Roger 
10 


146  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Chillingwcrth  by  no  fact  or  argument  worthy  of  serious 
refutation.  There  was  an  aged  handicraftsman,  it  is 
true,  who  had  been  a  citizen  of  London  at  the  period  of 
Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  murder,  now  some  thirty  years 
agone ;  he  testified  to  having  seen  the  physician,  under 
some  other  name,  which  the  narrator  of  the  story  had 
now  forgotten,  in  company  with  Doctor  Forman,  the 
famous  old  conjurer,  who  was  implicated  in  the  affair  of 
Overbury.  Two  or  three  individuals  hinted,  that  the 
man  of  skill,  during  his  Indian  captivity,  had  enlarged 
his  medical  attainments  by  joining  in  the  incantations 
of  the  savage  priests ;  who  were  universally  acknowl- 
edged to  be  powerful  enchanters,  often  performing  seem- 
ingly miraculous  cures  by  their  skill  in  the  black  art. 
A  large  number  —  and  many  of  these  were  persons  of 
such  sober  sense  and  practical  observation  that  their 
opinions  would  have  been  valuable,  in  other  matters  — 
affirmed  that  Roger  Chillingworth's  aspect  had  under- 
gone a  remarkable  change  while  he  had  dwelt  in  town, 
and  especially  since  his  abode  with  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
At  first,  his  expression  had  been  calm,  meditative,  scholar- 
like.  Now,  there  was  something  ugly  and  evil  in  his 
face,  which  they  had  not  previously  noticed,  and  which 
grew  still  the  more  obvious  to  sight,  the  oftener  they 
looked  upon  him.  According  to  the  vulgar  idea,  the 
fire  in  his  laboratory  had  been  brought  from  the  lower 
regions,  and  was  fed  with  infernal  fuel ;  and  so,  as 
might  be  expected,  his  visage  was  getting  sooty  with  the 
smoke. 

To  sum  up  the  matter,  it  grew  to  be  a  widely  diffused 
opinion,  that  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  like 
many  other  personages  of  especial  sanctity,  in  all  ages 


THE    LEECH.  147 

of  the  Christian  world,  was  haunted  either  by  Satan 
himself,  or  Satan's  emissary,  in  the  guise  of  old  Koger 
Chillingworth.  This  diabolical  agent  had  the  Divine 
permission,  for  a  season,  to  burrow  into  the  clergyman's 
intimacy,  and  plot  against  his  soul.  No  sensible  man, 
it  was  confessed,  could  doubt  on  which  side  the  victory 
would  turn.  The  people  looked,  with  an  unshaken  hope, 
to  see  the  minister  come  forth  out  of  the  conflict,  trans- 
figured with  the  glory  which  he  would  unquestionably 
win.  Meanwhile,  nevertheless,  it  was  sad  to  think  of 
the  perchance  mortal  agony  through  which  he  must 
struggle  towards  his  triumph. 

Alas !  to  judge  from  the  gloom  and  terror  in  the  depths 
of  the  poor  minister's  eyes,  the  battle  was  a  sore  one,  and 
the  victory  anything  but  secure. 


148  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


X. 

THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT 

OLD  Roger  Chillingworth,  throughout  life,  had  been 
calm  in  temperament,  kindly,  though  not  of  warm  affec- 
tions, but  ever,  and  in  all  his  relations  with  the  world,  a 
pure  and  upright  man.  He  had  begun  an  investigation, 
as  he  imagined,  with  the  severe  and  equal  integrity  of  a 
judge,  desirous  only  of  truth,  even  as  if  the  question 
involved  no  more  than  the  air-drawn  lines  and  figures 
of  a  geometrical  problem,  instead  of  human  passions,  and 
wrongs  inflicted  on  himself.  But,  as  he  proceeded,  a 
terrible  fascination,  a  kind  of  fierce,  though  still  calm, 
necessity  seized  the  old  man  within  its  gripe,  and  never 
set  him  free  again,  until  he  had  done  all  its  bidding. 
He  now  dug  into  the  poor  clergyman's  heart,  like  a 
miner  searching  for  gold ;  or,  rather,  like  a  sexton  delv- 
ing into  a  grave,  possibly  in  quest  of  a  jewel  that  had 
been  buried  on  the  dead  man's  bosom,  but  likely  to  find 
nothing  save  mortality  and  corruption.  Alas  for  his  own 
soul,  if  these  were  what  he  sought ! 

Sometimes,  a  light  glimmered  out  of  the  physician's 
eyes,  burning  blue  and  ominous,  like  the  reflection  of  a 
furnace,  or,  let  us  say,  like  one  of  those  gleams  of  ghastly 
fire  that  darted  from  Bunyan's  awful  door-way  in  the 
hill-side,  and  quivered  on  the  pilgrim's  face.  The  soil 
where  this  dark  miner  was  working  had  perchance  shown 
indications  that  encouraged  him. 

"  This  man,"  said  he,  at  one  such  moment,  to  him- 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT.  149 

self,  "  pure  as  they  deem  him, — all  spiritual  as  he  seems, 
—  hath  inherited  a  strong  animal  nature  from  his  father 
or  his  mother.  Let  us  dig  a  little  further  in  the  direc- 
tion of  this  vein  ! " 

Then,  after  long  search  into  the  minister's  dim  inte- 
rior, and  turning  over  many  precious  materials,  in  the 
shape  of  high  aspirations  for  the  welfare  of  his  race, 
warm  love  of  souls,  pure  sentiments,  natural  piety, 
strengthened  by  thought  and  study,  and  illuminated  by 
revelation,  —  all  of  which  invaluable  gold  was  perhaps 
no  better  than  rubbish  to  the  seeker,  —  he  would  turn 
back,  discouraged,  and  begin  his  quest  towards  another 
point.  He  groped  along  as  stealthily,  with  as  cautious 
a  tread,  and  as  wary  an  outlook,  as  a  thief  entering  a 
chamber  where  a  man  lies  only  half  asleep,  —  or,  it  may 
be,  broad  awake,  —  with  purpose  to  steal  the  very  treas- 
ure which  this  man  guards  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  In 
spite  of  his  premeditated  carefulness,  the  floor  would 
now  and  then  creak;  his  garments  would  rustle;  the 
shadow  of  his  presence,  in  a  forbidden  proximity,  would 
be  thrown  across  his  victim.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale,  whose  sensibility  of  nerve  often  produced  the 
effect  of  spiritual  intuition,  would  become  vaguely  aware 
that  something  inimical  to  his  peace  had  thrust  itself 
into  relation  with  him.  But  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
too,  had  perceptions  that  were  almost  intuitive;  and 
when  the  minister  threw  his  startled  eyes  towards  him, 
there  the  physician  sat ;  his  kind,  watchful,  sympathiz- 
ing, but  never  intrusive  friend. 

Yet  Mr.  Dimmesdale  would  perhaps  have  seen  this 
individual's  character  more  perfectly,  if  a  certain  mor- 
bidness, to  which  sick  hearts  are  liable,  had  not  ren- 


150  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

dered  him  suspicious  of  all  mankind.  Trusting  no  man 
as  his  friend,  he  could  not  recognize  his  enemy  when 
the  latter  actually  appeared.  He  therefore  still  kept  up 
a  familiar  intercourse  with  him,  daily  receiving  the  old 
physician  in  his  study ;  or  visiting  the  laboratory,  and, 
for  recreation's  sake,  watching  the  processes  by  which 
weeds  were  converted  into  drugs  of  potency. 

One  day,  leaning  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  his 
elbow  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window,  that  looked 
towards  the  grave-yard,  he  talked  with  Koger  Chilling- 
worth,  while  the  old  man  was  examining  a  bundle  of 
unsightly  plants. 

"  Where,"  asked  he,  with  a  look  askance  at  them,  — 
for  it  was  the  clergyman's  peculiarity  that  he  seldom, 
now-a-days,  looked  straightforth  at  any  object,  whether 
human  or  inanimate — "where,  my  kind  doctor,  did 
you  gather  those  herbs,  with  such  a  dark,  flabby  leaf?" 

"  Even  in  the  grave-yard  here  at  hand,"  answered 
the  physician,  continuing  his  employment.  "  They  are 
new  to  me.  I  found  them  growing  on  a  grave,  which 
bore  no  tomb-stone,  nor  other  memorial  of  the  dead  man, 
save  these  ugly  weeds,  that  have  taken  upon  themselves 
to  keep  him  in  remembrance.  They  grew  out  of  his 
heart,  and  typify,  it  may  be,  some  hideous  secret  that 
was  buried  with  him,  and  which  he  had  done  better  to 
confess  during  his  lifetime." 

"  Perchance,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  "  he  earnestly 
desired  it,  but  could  not." 

"  And  wherefore?"  rejoined  the  physician.  ""Where- 
fore not ;  since  all  the  powers  of  nature  call  so  earnestly 
for  the  confession  of  sin,  that  these  black  weeds  have 


THE    LEECH  AND    HIS    PATIENT.  151 

sprung  up  out  of  a  buried  heart,  to  make  manifest  an 
unspoken  crime  ? " 

"  That,  good  Sir,  is  but  a  fantasy  of  yours,"  replied 
the  minister.  "  There  can  be,  if  I  forebode  aright,  no 
power,  short  of  the  Divine  mercy,  to  disclose,  whether 
by  uttered  words,  or  by  type  or  emblem,  the  secrets  that 
may  be  buried  with  a  human  heart.  The  heart,  making 
itself  guilty  of  such  secrets,  must  perforce  hold  them, 
until  the  day  when  all  hidden  things  shall  be  revealed. 
Nor  have  1  so  read  or  interpreted  Holy  Writ,  as  to 
understand  that  the  disclosure  of  human  thoughts  and 
deeds,  then  to  be  made,  is  intended  as  a  part  of  the  retri- 
bution. That,  surely,  were  a  shallow  view  of  it.  No ; 
these  revelations,  unless  I  greatly  err,  are  meant  merely 
to  promote  the  intellectual  satisfaction  of  all  intelligent 
beings,  who  will  stand  waiting,  on  that  day,  to  see  the 
dark  problem  of  this  life  made  plain.  A  knowledge  of 
men's  hearts  will  be  needful  to  the  completest  solution 
of  that  problem.  And  I  conceive,  moreover,  that  the 
hearts  holding  such  miserable  secrets  as  you  speak  of 
will  yield  them  up,  at  that  last  day,  not  with  reluctance, 
but  with  a  joy  unutterable." 

"Then  why  not  reveal  them  here?"  asked  Roger 
Chillingworth,  glancing  quietly  aside  at  the  minister. 
"  Why  should  not  the  guilty  ones  sooner  avail  them- 
selves of  this  unutterable  solace  ? " 

"  They  mostly  do,"  said  the  clergyman,  griping  hard 
at  his  breast,  as  if  afflicted  with  an  importunate  throb  of 
pain.  "  Many,  many  a  poor  soul  hath  given  its  confi- 
dence to  me,  not  only  on  the  death-bed,  but  while  strong 
in  life,  and  fair  in  reputation.  And  ever,  after  such  an 
outpouring,  0,  what  a  relief  have  I  witnessed  in  those 


152  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

sinful  brethren !  even  as  in  one  who  at  last  draws  free 
air,  after  long  stifling  with  his  own  polluted  breath. 
How  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  Why  should  a  wretched 
man,  guilty,  we  will  say,  of  murder,  prefer  to  keep 
the  dead  corpse  buried  in  his  own  heart,  rather  than 
fling  it  forth  at  once,  and  let  the  universe  take  care 
of  it!" 

"  Yet  some  men  bury  their  secrets  thus."  observed  the 
calm  physician. 

"  True ;  there  are  such  men,"  answered  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale.  "  But,  not  to  suggest  more  obvious  reasons,  it  may 
be  that  they  are  kept  silent  by  the  very  constitution 
of  their  nature.  Or, — can  we  not  suppose  it? — guilty 
as  they  may  be,  retaining,  nevertheless,  a  zeal  for  God's 
glory  and  man's  welfare,  they  shrink  from  displaying 
themselves  black  and  filthy  in  the  view  of  men;  be- 
cause, thenceforward,  no  good  can  be  achieved  by  them ; 
no  evil  of  the  past  be  redeemed  by  better  service.  So, 
to  their  own  unutterable  torment,  they  go  about  among 
their  fellow-creatures,  looking  pure  as  new-fallen  snow ; 
while  their  hearts  are  all  speckled  and  spotted  with 
iniquity  of  which  they  cannot  rid  themselves." 

"  These  men  deceive  themselves,"  said  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  with  somewhat  more  emphasis  than  usual, 
and  making  a  slight  gesture  with  his  forefinger. 
"  They  fear  to  take  up  the  shame  that  rightfully  belongs 
to  them.  Their  love  for  man,  their  zeal  for  God's  ser- 
vice,—  these  holy  impulses  may  or  may  not  coexist  in 
their  hearts  with  the  evil  inmates  tb  which  their  guilt 
has  unbarred  the  door,  and  which  must  needs  propagate 
a  hellish  breed  within  them.  But,  if  they  seek  to  glo- 
rify God,  let  them  not  lift  heavenward  their  unclean 


THE    LEECH  AND   HIS   FATIENT.  153 

hands !  If  they  would  serve  their  fellow-men,  let  them 
do  it  by  making  manifest  the  power  and  reality  of 
conscience,  in  constraining  them  to  penitential  self- 
abasement  !  Wouldst  thou  have  me  to  believe,  0  wise 
and  pious  friend,  that  a  false  show  can  be  better  —  can 
be  more  for  God's  glory,  or  man's  welfare  —  than 
God's  own  truth  ?  Trust  me,  such  men  deceive  them- 
selves!" 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  young  clergyman,  indiffer- 
ently as  waiving  a  discussion  that  he  considered  irrele- 
vant or  unseasonable.  He  had  a  ready  faculty,  indeed, 
of  escaping  from  any  topic  that  agitated  his  too  sensitive 
and  nervous  temperament.  —  "  But,  now,  I  would  ask 
of  my  well-skilled  physician,  whether,  in  good  sooth,  he 
deems  me  to  have  profited  by  his  kindly  care  of  this 
weak  frame  of  mine  ?  " 

Before  Roger  Chillingworth  could  answer,  they  heard 
the  clear,  wild  laughter  of  a  young  child's  voice,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  adjacent  burial-ground.  Looking 
instinctively  from  the  open  window,  —  for  it  was  sum- 
mer-time,—  the  minister  beheld  Hester  Prynne  and 
little  Pearl  passing  along  the  foot-path  that  traversed  the 
enclosure.  Pearl  looked  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  but 
was  in  one  of  those  moods  of  perverse  merriment 
which,  whenever  they  occurred,  seemed  to  remove  her 
entirely  out  of  the  sphere  of  sympathy  or  human  contact. 
She  now  skipped  irreverently  from  one  grave  to  another ; 
until,  coming  to  the  broad,  flat,  armorial  tomb-stone  of  a 
departed  worthy,  —  perhaps  of  Isaac  Johnson  himself, 
—  she  began  to  dance  upon  it.  In  reply  to  her  mother's 
command  and  entreaty  that  she  would  behave  more 
decorously,  little  Pearl  paused  to  gather  the  prickly 


154  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

burrs  from  a  tall  burdock  which  grew  beside  the  tomb. 
Taking  a  handful  of  these,  she  arranged  them  along  the 
lines  of  the  scarlet  letter  that  decorated  the  maternal 
bosom,  to  which  the  burrs,  as  their  nature  was,  tena- 
ciously adhered.  Hester  did  not  pluck  them  off. 

Eoger  Chillingworth  had  by  this  time  approached  the 
window,  and  smiled  grimly  down. 

"  There  is  no  law,  nor  reverence  for  authority,  no 
regard  for  human  ordinances  or  opinions,  right  or 
wrong,  mixed  up  with  that  child's  composition,"  re- 
marked he,  as  much  to  himself  as  to  his  companion. 
"  I  saw  her,  the  other  day,  bespatter  the  Governor  him- 
self with  water,  at  the  cattle-trough  in  Spring-lane. 
What,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  she  ?  Is  the  imp  altogether 
evil  ?  Hath  she  affections  ?  Hath  she  any  discovera- 
ble principle  of  being  ? " 

"  None,  —  save  the  freedom  of  a  broken  law,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Dimmesdale,  in  a  quiet  way,  as  if  he  had 
been  discussing  the  point  within  himself.  "Whether 
capable  of  good,  I  know  not." 

The  child  probably  overheard  their. voices;  for,  look- 
ing up  to  the  window,  with  a  bright,  but  naughty  smile 
of  mirth  and  intelligence,  she  threw  one  of  the  prickly 
burrs  at  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  sensitive 
clergyman  shrunk,  with  nervous  dread,  from  the  light 
missile.  Detecting  his  emotion,  Pearl  clapped  her  little 
hands,  in  the  most  extravagant  ecstacy.  Hester  Prynne, 
likewise,  had  involuntarily  looked  up;  and  all  these 
four  persons,  old  and  young,  regarded  one  another  in 
silence,  till  the  child  laughed  aloud,  and  shouted, — 
"Come  away,  mother!  Come  away,  or  yonder  old 
Black  Man  will  catch  you !  He  hath  got  hold  of  the 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT.  155 

minister  already.  Come  away,  mother,  or  he  will  catch 
you  !  But  he  cannot  catch  little  Pearl !  " 

So  she  drew  her  mother  away,  skipping,  dancing, 
and  frisking  fantastically,  among  the  hillocks  of  the 
dead  people,  like  a  creature  that  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  a  bygone  and  buried  generation,  nor  owned 
herself  akin  to  it.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  made 
afresh,  out  of  new  elements,  and  must  perforce  be  per- 
mitted to  live  her  own  life,  and  be  a  law  unto  herself, 
without  her  eccentricities  being  reckoned  to  her  for  a 
crime. 

"  There  goes  a  woman,"  resumed  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  after  a  pause,  "  who,  be  her  demerits  what  they 
may,  hath  none  of  that  mystery  of  hidden  sinfulness 
which  you  deem  so  grievous  to  be  borne.  Is  Hester 
Prynne  the  less  miserable,  think  you,  for  that  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast  ? " 

"  I  do  verily  believe  it,"  answered  the  clergyman. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  answer  for  her.  There  was 
a  look  of  pain  in  her  face,  which  I  would  gladly  have 
been  spared  the  sight  of.  But  still,  methinks,  it  must 
needs  be  better  for  the  sufferer  to  be  free  to  show  his 
pain,  as  this  poor  woman  Hester  is,  than  to  cover  it  all 
up  in  his  heart." 

There  was  another  pause ;  and  the  physician  began 
anew  to  examine  and  arrange  the  plants  which  he  had 
gathered. 

"  You  inquired  of  me,  a  little  time  agone,"  said  he, 
at  length,  "  my  judgment  as  touching  your  health." 

"  I  did,"  answered  the  clergyman,  and  would  gladly 
learn  it.  "  Speak  frankly,  I  pray  you,  be  it  for  life  or 
death." 


156  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Freely,  then,  and  plainly,"  said  the  physician,  still 
busy  with  his  plants,  but  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  "  the  disorder  is  a  strange  one ;  not  so 
much  in  itself,  nor  as  outwardly  manifested,  —  in  so 
far,  at  least,  as  the  symptoms  have  been  laid  open  to 
my  observation.  Looking  daily  at  you,  my  good  Sir, 
and  watching  the  tokens  of  your  aspect,  now  for  months 
gone  by,  I  should  deem  you  a  man  sore  sick,  it  may  be, 
yet  not  so  sick  but  that  an  instructed  and  watchful  phy- 
sician might  well  hope  to  cure  you.  But  —  I  know  not 
what  to  say  —  the  disease  is  what  I  seem  to  know,  yet 
know  it  not." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,  learned  Sir,"  said  the  pale 
minister,  glancing  aside  out  of  the  window. 

"  Then,  to  speak  more  plainly,"  continued  the  phy- 
sician, "and  I  crave  pardon,  Sir,  —  should  it  seem  to 
require  pardon,  —  for  this  needful  plainness  of  my  speech. 
Let  me  ask,  —  as  your  friend,  —  as  one  having  charge, 
under  Providence,  of  your  life  and  physical  well-being, 
—  hath  all  the  operation  of  this  disorder  been  fairly  laid 
open  and  recounted  to  me  ?  " 

"How  can  you  question  it?"  asked  the  minister. 
"  Surely,  it  were  child's  play,  to  call  in  a  physician,  and 
then  hide  the  sore !  " 

"  You  would  tell  me,  then,  that  I  know  all  ?  "  said 
Roger  Chilling  worth,  deliberately,  and  fixing  an  eye, 
bright  with  intense  and  concentrated  intelligence,  on 
the  minister's  face.  "  Be  it  so !  But,  again !  He  to 
whom  only  the  outward  and  physical  evil  is  laid  open, 
knoweth,  oftentimes,  but  half  the  evil  which  he  is  called 
upon  to  cure.  A  bodily  disease,  which  we  look  upon 
as  whole  and  entire  within  itself,  may,  after  all,  be  but 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT. 


a  symptom  of  some  ailment  in  the  spiritual  part  Your 
pardon,  once  again,  good  Sir,  if  my  speech  give  the 
shadow  of  offence.  You,  Sir,  of  all  men  whom  I  have 
known,  are  he  whose  body  is  the  closest  conjoined,  and 
imbued,  and  identified,  so  10  speak,  with  the  spirit 
whereof  it  is  the  instrument." 

"  Then  I  need  ask  no  further,"  said  the  clergyman, 
somewhat  hastily  rising  from  his  chair.  "  You  deal  not, 
I  take  it,  in  medicine  for  the  soul !  " 

"  Thus,  a  sickness,"  continued  Roger  Chillingworth, 
going  on,  in  an  unaltered  tone,  without  heeding  the 
interruption,  —  but  standing  up,  and  confronting  the 
emaciated  and  white-cheeked  minister,  with  his  low, 
dark,  and  misshapen  figure,  —  "a  sickness,  a  sore  place, 
«f  we  may  so  call  it,  in  your  spirit,  hath  immediately 
?ts  appropriate  manifestation  in  your  bodily  frame. 
Would  you,  therefore,  that  your  physician  heal  the 
bodily  evil?  How  may  this  be,  unless  you  first  lay 
open  to  him  the  wound  or  trouble  in  your  soul  ?  " 

"  No !  —  not  to  thee  !  —  not  to  an  earthly  physician  ! " 
cried  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  passionately,  and  turning  his 
eyes,  full  and  bright,  and  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  on 
old  Roger  Chillingworth.  "  Not  to  thee  !  But,  if  it  be 
the  soul's  disease,  then  do  I  commit  myself  to  the  one 
Physician  of  the  soul !  He,  if  it  stand  with  his  good 
pleasure,  can  cure ;  or  he  can  kill !  Let  him  do  with 
me  as,  in  his  justice  and  wisdom,  he  shall  see  good. 
But  who  art  thou,  that  meddlest  in  this  matter?  —  that 
dares  thrust  himself  between  the  sufferer  and  his  God  ?  " 

With  a  frantic  gesture,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"  It  is  as  well  to  have  made  this  step,"  said  Roger 
Chillingworth  to  himself,  looking  after  the  minister,  with 


158  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

a  grave  smile.  "  There  is  nothing  lost.  We  shall  be 
friends  again  anon.  But  see,  now,  how  passion  takes 
hold  upon  this  man,  and  hurrieth  him  out  of  himself ! 
As  with  one  passion,  so  with  another !  He  hath  done 
a  wild  thing  ere  now,  this  pious  Master  Dimmesdale, 
in  the  hot  passion  of  his  heart !  " 

It  proved  not  difficult  to  reestablish  the  intimacy  of 
the  two  companions,  on  the  same  footing  and  in  the 
same  degree  as  heretofore.  The  young  clergyman, 
after  a  few  hours  of  privacy,  was  sensible  that  the  dis- 
order of  his  nerves  had  hurried  him  into  an  unseemly 
outbreak  of  temper,  which  there  had  been  nothing  in 
the  physician's  words  to  excuse  or  palliate.  He  mar- 
velled, indeed,  at  the  violence  with  which  he  had  thrust 
back  the  kind  old  man,  when  merely  proffering  the 
advice  which  it  was  his  duty  to  bestow,  and  which  the 
minister  himself  had  expressly  sought.  With  these  re- 
morseful feelings,  he  lost  no  time  in  making  the  amplest 
apologies,  and  besought  his  friend  still  to  continue  the 
care,  which,  if  not  successful  in  restoring  him  to  health, 
had,  in  all  probability,  been  the  means  of  prolonging  his 
feeble  existence  to  that  hour.  Roger  Chillingworth 
readily  assented,  and  went  on  with  his  medical  super- 
vision of  the  minister;  doing  his  best  for  him,  in  all 
good  faith,  but  always  quitting  the  patient's  apartment, 
at  the  close  of  a  professional  interview,  with  a  mysteri- 
ous  and  puzzled  smile  upon  his  lips.  This  expression 
was  invisible  in  Mr.  Dimmesdale 's  presence,  but  grew 
strongly  evident  as  the  physic '«an  crossed  the  thresh- 
old. 

"A  rare  case!"  he  muttered.  "  I  must  needs  look 
deeper  into  it.  A  strange  sympathy  betwixt  soul  and 


THE    LEECH    AND   HIS    PATIENT.  159 

body !  Were  it  only  for  the  art's  sake,  I  must  search 
this  matter  to  the  bottom !  " 

It  came  to  pass,  not  long  after  the  scene  above  re- 
corded, that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  noon- 
day, and  entirely  unawares,  fell  into  a  deep,  deep  sium- 
ber,  sitting  in  his  chair,  with  a  large  black-letter  volume 
open  before  him  on  the  table.  It  must  have  been  a 
work  of  vast  ability  in  the  somniferous  school  of  litera- 
ture. The  profound  depth  of  the  minister's  repose  was 
the  more  remarkable,  inasmuch  as  he  was  one  of  those 
persons  whose  sleep,  ordinarily,  is  as  light,  as  fitful,  and 
as  easily  scared  away,  as  a  small  bird  hopping  on  a  twig. 
To  such  an  unwonted  remoteness,  however,  had  his 
spirit  now  withdrawn  into  itself,  that  he  sthred  not  in 
his  chair,  when  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  without  any 
extraordinary  precaution,  came  into  the  room.  The  phy- 
sician advanced  directly  in  front  of  his  patient,  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  bosom,  and  thrust  aside  the  vestment, 
that,  hitherto,  had  always  covered  it  even  from  the  pro- 
fessional eye. 

Then,  indeed,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  shuddered,  and  slight- 
ly stirred. 

After  a  brief  pause,  the  physician  turned  away. 

But,  with  what  a  wild  look  of  wonder,  joy,  and 
horror !  With  what  a  ghastly  rapture,  as  it  were,  too 
mighty  to  be  expressed  only  by  the  eye  and  features, 
and  therefore  bursting  forth  through  the  whole  ugliness 
of  his  figure,  and  making  itself  even  riotously  manifest 
by  the  extravagant  gestures  with  which  he  threw  up  his 
arms  towards  the  ceiling,  and  stamped  his  foot  upon 
the  floor !  Had  a  man  seen  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
at  that  moment  of  his  ecstacy,  he  would  have  had  no 


160  THE  SCARLET  LE1TER. 

need  to  ask  how  Satan  comports  himself,  when  a  pre- 
cious human  soul  is  lost  to  neaven,  and  won  into  his 
kingdom. 

But  what  distinguished  the  physician's  ecstacy  from 
Satan's  was  the  trait  of  wonder  in  it ! 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART  161 


XL 

THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  HEART. 

AFTER  the  incident  last  described,  the  intercourse 
between  the  clergyman  and  the  physician,  though  ex- 
ternally the  same,  was  really  of  another  character  than 
it  nad  previously  been.  The  intellect  of  Roger  Chil- 
lirigworth  had  now  a  sufficiently  plain  path  before  it. 
It  was  not,  indeed,  precisely  that  which  he  had  laid  out 
for  himself  to  tread.  Calm,  gentle,  passionless,  as  he 
appeared,  there  was  yet,  we  fear,  a  quiet  depth  of  malice, 
hitherto  latent,  but  active  now,  in  this  unfortunate  old 
man,  which  led  him  to  imagine  a  more  intimate  revenge 
than  any  mortal  had  ever  wreaked  upon  an  enemy.  To 
make  himself  the  one  trusted  friend,  to  whom  should  be 
confided  all  the  fear,  the  remorse,  the  agony,  the  ineffect- 
ual repentance,  the  backward  rush  of  sinful  thoughts, 
expelled  in  vain  !  All  that  guilty  sorrow,  hidden  from 
the  world,  whose  great  heart  would  have  pitied  and  for- 
given, to  be  revealed  to  him,  the  Pitiless,  to  him,  the 
Unforgiving  !  All  that  dark  treasure  to  be  lavished  on 
the  very  man,  to  whom  nothing  else  could  so  adequately 
pay  the  debt  of  vengeance  ! 

The  clergyman's  shy  and  sensitive  reserve  had  balked 
this  scheme.  Roger  Chillingworth,  however,  was  in- 
clined to  be  hardly,  if  at  all,  less  satisfied  with  the  aspect 
of  affairs,  which  Providence  —  using  the  avenger  and 
his  victim  for  its  own  purposes,  and,  perchance,  pardon- 
ing, where  it  seemed  most  to  punish  —  had  substituted 
11 


]62  -THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

for  his  black  devices.  A  revelation,  he  could  almost  say, 
had  been  granted  to  him.  It  mattered  little,  for  his  ob- 
ject, whether  celestial,  or  from  what  other  region.  By 
its  aid,  in  all  the  subsequent  relations  betwixt  him  and 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  not  merely  the  external  presence,  but 
the  very  inmost  soul,  of  the  latter,  seemed  to  be  brought 
out  before  his  eyes,  so  that  he  could  see  and  comprehend 
its  every  movement.  He  became,  thenceforth,  not  a 
spectator  only,  but  a  chief  actor,  in  the  poor  minister's 
interior  world.  He  could  play  upon  him  as  he  chose. 
Would  he  arouse  him  with  a  throb  of  agony  ?  The  vic- 
tim was  forever  on  the  rack ;  it  needed  only  to  know  the 
spring  that  controlled  the  engine  ;  —  and  the  physician 
knew  it  well !  Would  he  startle  him  with  sudden  fear  ? 
As  at  the  waving  of  a  magician's  wand,  uprose  a  grisly 
phantom,  —  uprose  a  thousand  phantoms,  —  in  many 
shapes,  of  death,  or  more  awful  shame,  all  flocking  round 
about  the  clergyman,  and  pointing  with  their  fingers  at 
his  breast ! 

All  this  was  accomplished  with  a  subtlety  so  perfect, 
that  the  minister,  though  he  had  constantly  a  dim  per- 
ception of  some  evil  influence  watching  over  him,  could 
never  gain  a  knowledge  of  its  actual  nature.  True,  he 
looked  doubtfully,  fearfully,  —  even,  at  times,  with  hor- 
ror and  the  bitterness  of  hatred, — at  the  deformed  figure 
of  the  old  physician.  His  gestures,  his  gait,  his  grizzled 
beard,  his  slightest  and  most  indifferent  acts,  the  very 
fashion  of  his  garments,  were  odious  in  the  clergyman's 
sight ;  a  token  implicitly  to  be  relied  on,  of  a  deeper  an- 
tipathy in  the  breast  of  the  latter  than  he  was  willing  to 
acknowledge  to  himself.  For,  as  it  was  impossible  to 
assign  a  reason  for  such  distrust  and  abhorrence3  so  Mr 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  163 

Dimmesdale,  conscious  that  the  poison  of  one  morbid 
spot  was  infecting  his  heart's  entire  substance,  attributed 
all  his  presentiments  to  no  other  cause.  He  took  him- 
self to  task  for  his  bad  sympathies  in  reference  to  Roger 
Chillingworth,  disregarded  the  lesson  that  he  should 
have  drawn  from  them,  and  did  his  best  to' root  them  out. 
Unable  to  accomplish  this,  he  nevertheless,  as  a  matter 
of  principle,  continued  his  habits  of  social  familiarity 
with  the  old  man,  and  thus  gave  him  constant  opportu- 
nities for  perfecting  the  purpose  to  which  —  poor,  for- 
lorn creature  that  he  was,  and  more  wretched  than  his 
victim  —  the  avenger  had  devoted  himself. 

While  thus  suffering  under  bodily  disease,  and  gnawed 
and  tortured  by  some  black  trouble  of  the  soul,  and  given 
over  to  the  machinations  of  his  deadliest  enemy,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  achieved  a  brilliant  pop- 
ularity in  his  sacred  office.  He  won  it,  indeed,  in  great 
part,  by  his  sorrows.  His  intellectual  gifts,  his  moral 
perceptions,  his  power  of  experiencing  and  communi- 
cating emotion,  were  kept  in  a  state  of  preternatural  activ- 
ity by  the  prick  and  anguish  of  his  daily  life.  His  fame, 
though  still  on  its  upward  slope,  already  overshadowed 
the  soberer  reputations  of  his  fellow-clergymen,  eminent 
as  several  of  them  were.  There  were  scholars  among 
them,  who  had  spent  more  years  in  acquiring  abstruse 
lore,  connected  with  the  divine  profession,  than  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale had  lived ;  and  who  might  well,  therefore,  be 
more  profoundly  versed  in  such  solid  and  valuable  at- 
tainments than  their  youthful  brother.  There  were  men, 
too,  of  a  sturdier  texture  of  mind  than  his,  and  endowed 
with  a  far  greater  share  of  shrewd,  hard,  iron,  or  granite 
understanding ;  which,  duly  mingled  with  a  fair  proper- 


164  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

tion  of  doctrinal  ingredient,  constitutes  a  highly  respect^ 
able,  efficacious,  and  unamiable  variety  of  the  clerical 
species.  There  were  others,  again,  true  saintly  fathers, 
whose  faculties  had  been  elaborated  by  weary  toil  among 
their  books,  and  by  patient  thought,  and  etherealized, 
moreover,  by  spiritual  communications  with  the  better 
world,  into  which  their  purity  of  life  had  almost  intro- 
duced these  holy  personages,  with  their  garments  of  mor- 
tality still  clinging  to  them.  All  that  they  lacked  was 
the  gift  that  descended  upon  the  chosen  disciples  at  Pen- 
tecost, in  tongues  of  flame ;  symbolizing,  it  would  seem, 
not  the  power  of  speech  in  foreign  and  unknown  lan- 
guages, but  that  of  addressing  the  whole  human  brother- 
hood in  the  heart's  native  language.  These  fathers,  oth- 
erwise so  apostolic,  lacked  Heaven's  last  and  rarest 
attestation  of  their  office,  the  Tongue  of  Flame.  They 
would  have  vainly  sought  —  had  they  ever  dreamed  of 
seeking  —  to  express  the  highest  truths  through  the  hum- 
blest medium  of  familiar  words  and  images.  Their 
voices  came  down,  afar  and  indistinctly,  from  the  upper 
heights  where  they  habitually  dwelt. 

Not  improbably,  it  was  to  this  latter  class  of  men  that 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  by  many  of  his  traits  of  character, 
naturally  belonged.  To  the  high  mountain-peaks  of 
faith  and  sanctity  he  would  have  climbed,  had  not  the 
tendency  been  thwarted  by  the  burden,  whatever  it 
might  be,  of  crime  or  anguish,  beneath  which  it  was  his 
doom  to  totter.  It  kept  him  down,  on  a  level  with  the 
lowest;  him,  the  man  of  ethereal  attributes,  whose 
voice  the  angels  might  else  have  listened  to  and  an- 
swered !  But  this  very  burden  it  was,  that  gave  him 
sympathies  so  intimate  with  the  sinful  brotherhood  of 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A   HEART.  165 

mankind ;  so  that  his  heart  vibrated  in  unison  with 
theirs,  and  received  their  pain  into  itself,  and  sent  its 
own  throb  of  pain  through  a  thousand  other  hearts,  in 
gushes  of  sad,  persuasive  eloquence.  Oftenest  persua- 
sive, but  sometimes  terrible  !  The  people  knew  not  the 
power  that  moved  them  thus.  They  deemed  the  young 
clergyman  a  miracle  of  holiness.  They  fancied  him  the 
mouth-piece  of  Heaven's  messages  of  wisdom,  and  re- 
buke, and  love.  In  their  eyes,  the  very  ground  on  which 
he  trod  was  sanctified.  The  virgins  of  his  church  grew 
pale  around  him,  victims  of  a  passion  so  imbued  with 
religious  sentiment  that  they  imagined  it  to  be  all  re- 
ligion, and  brought  it  openly,  in  their  white  bosoms,  as 
their  most  acceptable  sacrifice  before  the  altar.  The 
aged  members  of  his  flock,  beholding  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
frame  so  feeble,  while  they  were  themselves  so  rugged  in 
their  infirmity,  believed  that  he  would  go  heavenward 
before  them,  arid  enjoined  it  upon  their  children,  that 
their  old  bones  should  be  buried  close  to  their  young  pas- 
tor's holy  grave.  And,  all  this  time,  perchance,  when 
poor  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  thinking  of  his  grave,  he 
questioned  with  himself  whether  the  grass  would  ever 
grow  on  it,  because  an  accursed  thing  must  there  be 
buried ! 

It  is  inconceivable,  the  agony  with  which  this  public 
veneration  tortured  him  !  It  was  his  genuine  impulse  to 
adore  the  truth,  and  to  reckon  all  things  shadow-like, 
and  utterly  devoid  of  weight  or  value,  that  had  not  its 
divine  essence  as  the  life  within  their  life.  Then,  what 
was  he  ?  —  a  substance  ?  —  or  the  dimmest  of  all  shad- 
ows ?  He  longed  to  speak  out,  from  his  own  pulpit,  at 
the  full  height  of  his  voice,  and  tell  the  people  what  he 


1G6  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

was.  "  I,  whom  you  behold  in  these  black  garments  of 
the  priesthood,  —  I,  who  ascend  the  sacred  desk,  and 
turn  my  pale  face  heavenward,  taking  upon  myself  to 
hold  communion,  in  your  behalf,  with  the  Most  High 
Omniscience,  —  I,  in  whose  daily  life  you  discern  the 
sanctity  of  Enoch,  —  I,  whose  footsteps,  as  you  suppose, 
leave  a  gleam  along  my  earthly  track,  whereby  the  pil- 
grims that  shall  come  after  me  may  be  guided  to  the 
regions  of  the  blest,  —  I,  who  have  laid  the  hand  of  bap- 
tism upon  your  children,  —  I,  who  have  breathed  the 
parting  prayer  over  your  dying  friends,  to  whom  the 
Amen  sounded  faintly  from  a  world  which  they  had 
quitted,  —  I,  your  pastor,  whom  you  so  reverence  and 
trust,  am  utterly  a  pollution  and  a  lie  !  " 

More  than  once,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  gone  into  the 
pulpit,  with  a  purpose  never  to  come  down  its  steps,  until 
he  should  have  spoken  words  like  the  above.  More  than 
once,  he  had  cleared  his  throat,  and  drawn  in  the  long, 
deep,  and  tremulous  breath,  which,  when  sent  forth  again, 
would  come  burdened  with  the  black  secret  of  his  soul. 
More  than  once  —  nay,  more  than  a  hundred  times  — 
he  had  actually  spoken !  Spoken  !  But  how  ?  He  had 
told  his  hearers  that  he  was  altogether  vile,  a  viler  com- 
panion of  the  vilest,  the  worst  of  sinners,  an  abomina- 
tion, a  thing  of  unimaginable  iniquity  ;  and  that  the  only 
wonder  was,  that  they  did  not  see  his  wretched  body 
shrivelled  up  before  their  eyes,  by  the  burning  wrath  of 
the  Almighty !  Could  there  be  plainer  speech  than  this  ? 
Would  not  the  people  start  up  in  their  seats,  by  a  simul- 
taneous impulse,  and  tear  him  down  out  of  the  pulpit 
which  he  denied  ?  Not  so,  indeed !  They  heard  it 
all,  and  did  but  reverence  him  the  more.  They  little 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A   HEART.  167 

guessed  what  deadly  purport  lurked  in  those  self-con- 
demning words.  "  The  godly  youth ! "  said  they  among 
themselves.  "  The  saint  on  earth  !  Alas,  if  he  discern 
such  sinfulness  in  his  own  white  soul,  what  horrid  spec- 
tacle would  he  behold  in  thine  or  mine  ! "  The  minister 
well  knew — subtle,  but  remorseful  hypocrite  that  he 
was  !  —  the  light  in  which  his  vague  confession  would 
be  viewed.  He  had  striven  to  put  a  cheat  upo'n  himself 
by  making  the  avowal  of  a  guilty  conscience,  but  had 
gained  only  one  other  sin,  and  a  self-acknowledged 
shame,  without  the  momentary  relief  of  being  self-de- 
ceived. He  had  spoken  the  very  truth,  and  transformed 
it  into  the  veriest  falsehood.  And  yet,  by  the  constitu- 
tion of  his  nature,  he  loved  the  truth,  and  loathed  the 
lie,  as  few  men  ever  did.  Therefore,  above  all  things 
else,  he  loathed  his  miserable  self! 

His  inward  trouble  drove  him  to  practices  more  in 
accordance  with  the  old,  corrupted  faith  of  Rome,  than 
with  the  better  light  of  the  church  in  which  he  had  been 
born  and  bred.  In  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  secret  closet,  under 
lock  and  key,  there  was  a  bloody  scourge.  Oftentimes, 
this  Protestant  and  Puritan  divine  had  plied  it  on  his 
own  shoulders ;  laughing  bitterly  at  himself  the  while, 
and  smiting  so  much  the  more  pitilessly  because  of  that 
bitter  laugh.  It  was  his  custom,  too,  as  it  has  been  that 
of  many  other  pious  Puritans,  to  fast,  —  not,  however, 
like  them,  in  order  to  purify  the  body  and  render  it  the 
fitter  medium  of  celestial  illumination,  but  rigorously, 
and  until  his  knees  trembled  beneath  him,  as  an  act  of 
penance.  He  kept  vigils,  likewise,  night  after  night, 
sometimes  in  utter  darkness ;  sometimes  with  a  glim- 
mering lamp ;  and  sometimes,  viewing  his  own  face  in  a 


168  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

looking-glass,  by  the  most  powerful  light  which  he  could 
throw  upon  it.  He  thus  typified  the  constant  intro- 
spection wherewith  he  tortured,  but  could  not  purify, 
himself.  In  these  lengthened  vigils,  his  brain  often 
reeled,  and  visions  seemed  to  flit  before  him ;  perhaps 
seen  doubtfully,  and  by  a  faint  light  of  their  own,  in  the 
remote  dimness  of  the  chamber,  or  more  vividly,  and 
close  beside  him,  within  the  looking-glass.  Now  it  was 
a  herd  of  diabolic  shapes,  that  grinned  and  mocked  at 
the  pale  minister,  and  beckoned  him  away  with  them ; 
now  a  group  of  shining  angels,  who  flew  upward  heavily, 
as  sorrow-laden,  but  grew  more  ethereal  as  they  rose. 
Now  came  the  dead  friends  of  his  youth,  and  his  white- 
bearded  father,  with  a  saint-like  frown,  and  his  mother, 
turning  her  face  away  as  she  passed  by.  Ghost  of  a 
mother,  —  thinnest  fantasy  of  a  mother,  —  methinks  she 
might  yet  have  thrown  a  pitying  glance  towards  her  son ! 
And  now,  through  the  chamber  which  these  spectral 
thoughts  had  made  so  ghastly,  glided  Hester  Prynne, 
leading  along  little  Pearl,  in  her  scarlet  garb,  and  point- 
ing her  forefinger,  first  at  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  bosom, 
and  then  at  the  clergyman's  own  breast. 

None  of  these  visions  ever  quite  deluded  him.  At  any 
moment,  by  an  effort  of  his  will,  he  could  discern  sub- 
stances through  their  misty  lack  of  substance,  and  con- 
vince himself  that  they  were  not  solid  in  their  nature, 
like  yonder  table  of  carved  oak,  or  that  big,  square, 
leathern-bound  and  brazen-clasped  volume  of  divinity. 
But,  for  all  that,  they  were,  in  one  sense,  the  truest  and 
most  substantial  things  which  the  poor  minister  now 
dealt  with.  It  is  the  unspeakable  misery  of  a  life  so 
false  as  his,  that  it  steals  the  pith  and  substance  out  of 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  161) 

whatever  realities  there  are  around  us,  and  which  were 
meant  by  Heaven  to  be  the  spirit's  joy  and  nutriment. 
To  the  untrue  man,  the  whole  universe  is  false,  —  it  is 
impalpable,  —  it  shrinks  to  nothing  within  his  grasp. 
And  he  himself,  in  so  far  as  he  shows  himself  in  a  false 
light,  becomes  a  shadow,  or,  indeed,  ceases  to  exist.  The 
only  truth  that  continued  to  give  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  real 
existence  on  this  earth,  was  the  anguish  in  his  inmost 
soul,  and  the  undissembled  expression  of  it  in  his  aspect. 
Had  he  once  found  power  to  smile,  and  wear  a  face  of 
gayety,  there  would  have  been  no  such  man  ! 

On  one  of  those  ugly  nights,  which  we  have  faintly 
hinted  at,  but  forborne  to  picture  forth,  the  ministei 
started  from  his  chair.  A  new  thought  had  struck  him. 
There  might  be  a  moment's  peace  in  it.  Attiring  him- 
self with  as  much  care  as  if  it  had  been  for  public  wor- 
ship, and  precisely  in  the  same  manner,  he  stole  softly 
down  the  staircase,  undid  the  door,  and  issued  forth. 


170  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XII. 

THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL. 

WALKING  in  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  as  it  were,  and 
perhaps  actually  under  the  influence  of  a  species  of  som- 
nambulism, Mr.  Dimmesdale  reached  the  spot,  where,, 
now  so  long  since,  Hester  Prynne  had  lived  through  her 
first  hours  of  public  ignominy.  The  same  platform  or 
scaffold,  black  and  weather-stained  with  the  storm  or 
sunshine  of  seven  long  years,  and  foot-worn,  too,  with 
the  tread  of  many  culprits  who  had  since  ascended  it, 
remained  standing  beneath  the  balcony  of  the  meeting- 
house. The  minister  went  up  the  steps. 

It  was  an  obscure  night  of  early  May.  An  unvaried 
pall  of  cloud  muffled  the  whole  expanse  of  sky  from 
zenith  to  horizon.  If  the  same  multitude  which  had 
stood  as  eye-witnesses  while  Hester  Prynne  sustained 
her  punishment  could  now  have  been  summoned  forth, 
they  would  have^discerned  no  face  above  the  platform, 
nor  hardly  the  outline  of  a  human  shape,  in  the  dark 
gray  of  the  midnight.  But  the  town  was  all  asleep. 
There  was  no  peril  of  discovery.  The  minister  might 
stand  there,  if  it  so  pleased  him,  until  morning  should 
redden  in  the  east,  without  other  risk  than  that  the  dank 
and  chill  night-air  would  creep  into  his  frame,  and  stiffen 
his  joints  with  rheumatism,  and  clog  his  throat  with 
catarrh  and  cough;  thereby  defrauding  the  expectant 
audience  of  to-morrow's  prayer  and  sermon.  No  eye 
could  see  him,  save  that  ever-wakeful  one  which  had 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  171 

seen  him  in  his  closet,  wielding  the  bloody  scourge. 
Why,  then,  had  he  come  hither  ?  Was  it  but  the  mock- 
ery of  penitence  ?  A  mockery,  indeed,  but  in  which  his 
soul  trifled  with  itself!  A  mockery  at  which  angels 
blushed  and  wept,  while  fiends  rejoiced,  with  jeering 
laughter !  He  had  been  driven  hither  bythe  impulse  of 
that  Remorse  which  dogged  him  everywhere,  and  whose 
own  sister  and  closely  linked  companion  was  that  Cow- 
^ardice  which  invariably  drew  him  back,  with  her  tremu- 
lous gripe,  just  when  the  other  impulse  had  hurried  him 
to  the  verge  of  a  disclosure.  Poor,  miserable  man !  what 
right  had  infirmity  like  his  to  burden  itself  with  crime  ? 
Crime  is  for  the  iron-nerved,  who  have  their  choice  either 
to  endure  it,  or,  if  it  press  too  hard,  to  exert  their  fierce 
and  savage  strength  for  a  good  purpose,  and  fling  it  off 
at  once  !  This  feeble  and  most  sensitive  of  spirits  could 
do  neither,  yet  continually  did  one  thing  or  another, 
which  intertwined,  in  the  same  inextricable  knot,  the 
agony  of  heaven-defying  guilt  and  vain  repentance. 

And  thus,  while  standing  on  the  scaffold,  in  this  vain 
show  of  expiation,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  overcome  with 
a  great  horror  of  mind,  as  if  the  universe  were  gazing  at 
a  scarlet  token  on  his  naked  breast,  right  over  his  heart. 
On  that  spot,  in  very  truth,  there  was,  and  theje  had 
long  been,  the  gnawing  and  poisonous  tooth  of  bodily 
pain.  Without  any  effort  of  his  will,  or  power  to  restrain 
himself,  he  shrieked  aloud ;  an  outcry  that  went  pealing 
through  the  night,  and  was  beaten  back  from  one  house 
to  another,  and  reverberated  from  the  hills  in  the  back- 
ground ;  as  if  a  company  of  devils,  detecting  so  much 
misery  and  terror  in  it,  had  made  a  plaything  of  the 
sound,  and  were  bandying  it  to  and  fro. 


172  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

44  It  is  done ! "  muttered  the  minister,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands.  "  The  whole  town  will  awake,  and 
hurry  forth,  and  find  me  here !  " 

But  it  was  not  so.  The  shriek  had  perhaps  sounded 
with  a  far  greater  power,  to  his  own  startled  ears,  than  it 
actually  possessed.  The  town  did  not  awake ;  or,  if  it 
did,  the  drowsy  slumberers  mistook  the  cry  either  foi 
something  frightful  in  a  dream,  or  for  the  noise  of  witch- 
es ;  whose  voices,  at  that  period,  were  often  heard  to  pass  t 
over  the  settlements  or  lonely  cottages,  as  they  rode  with 
Satan  through  the  air.  The  clergyman,  therefore,  hear- 
ing no  symptoms  of  disturbance,  uncovered  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  him.  At  one  of  the  chamber-windows  of 
Governor  Bellingham's  mansion,  which  stood  at  some 
distance,  on  the  line  of  another  street,  he  beheld  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  old  magistrate  himself,  with  a  lamp  in 
his  hand,  a  white  night-cap  on  his  head,  and  a  long  white 
gown  enveloping  his  figure.  He  looked  like  a  ghost, 
evoked  unseasonably  from  the  grave.  The  cry  had  evi 
dently  startled  him.  At  another  window  of  the  same 
house,  moreover,  appeared  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  Gov- 
ernor's sister,  also  with  a  lamp,  which,  even  thus  far  off, 
revealed  the  expression  of  her  sour  and  discontented  face. 
She  thrust  forth  her  head  from  the  lattice,  and  looked 
anxiously  upward.  Beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  this 
venerable  witch-lady  had  heard  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  out 
cry,  and  interpreted  it,  with  its  multitudinous  echoes  and 
reverberations,  as  the  clamor  of  the  fiends  and  night-hags, 
with  whom  she  was  well  known  to  make  excursions  into 
the  forest. 

Detecting  the  gleam  of  Governor  Bellingham's  lamp, 
the  old  lady  quickly  extinguished  her  own,  and  vanished. 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  173 

Possibly,  she  went  up  among  the  clouds.  The  minister 
saw  nothing  further  of  her  motions.  The  magistrate, 
after  a  wary  observation  of  the  darkness  —  into  which, 
nevertheless,  he  could  see  but  little  further  than  he  might 
into  a  mill-stone  —  retired  from  the  window. 

The  minister  grew  comparatively  calm.  His  eyes, 
however,  were  soon  greeted  by  a  little,  glimmering  light, 
..  which,  at  first  a  long  way  off,  was  approaching  up  the 
street.  It  threw  a  gleam  of  recognition  on  here  a  post, 
and  there  a  garden-fence,  and  here  a  latticed  window-pane, 
and  there  a  pump,  with  its  full  trough  of  water,  and  here, 
again,  an  arched  door  of  oak,  with  an  iron  knocker,  and 
a  rough  log  for  the  door-step.  The  Eeverend  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale  noted  all  these  minute  particulars,  even  while 
firmly  convinced  that  the  doom  of  his  existence  was  steal- 
ing onward,  in  the  footsteps  which  he  now  heard ;  and 
that  the  gleam  of  the  lantern  would  fall  upon  him,  in  a 
few  moments  more,  and  reveal  his  long-hidden  secret. 
As  the  light  drew  nearer,  he  beheld,  within  its  illumin- 
ated circle,  his  brother  clergyman,  —  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  his  professional  father,  as  well  as  highly  val- 
ued friend,  —  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  ;  who,  as  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  now  conjectured,  had  been  praying  at  the 
bedside  of  some  dying  man.  And  so  he  had.  The  good 
old  minister  came  freshly  from  the  death-chamber  of 
Governor  Winthrop,  who  had  passed  from  earth  to  heaven 
within  that  very  hour.  And  now,  surrounded,  like  the 
saint-like  personages  of  olden  times,  with  a  radiant  halo, 
that  glorified  him  amid  this  gloomy  night  of  sin,  —  as  if 
the  departed  Governor  had  left  him  an  inheritance  of  his 
glory,  or  as  if  he  had  caught  upon  himself  the  distant 
shine  of  the  celestial  city,  while  looking  thitherward  to 


174  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

see  the  triumphant  pilgrim  pass  within  its  gates,  —  now, 
in  short,  good  Father  Wilson  was  moving  homeward, 
aiding  his  footsteps  with  a  lighted  lantern !  The  glim- 
mer of  this  luminary  suggested  the  above  conceits  to  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  who  smiled,  —  nay,  almost  laughed  at  them, 
—  and  then  wondered  if  he  were  going  mad. 

As  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  passed  beside  the  scaf- 
fold, closely  muffling  his  Geneva  cloak  about  him  with 
one  arm,  and  holding  the  lantern  before  his  breast  with 
the  other,  the  minister  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from 
speaking. 

"  A  good  evening  to  you,  venerable  Father  Wilson ! 
Come  up  hither,  I  pray  you,  and  pass  a  pleasant  hour 
with  me !  " 

Good  heavens  !  Had  Mr.  Dimmesdale  actually  spoken  ? 
For  one  instant,  he  believed  that  these  words  had  passed 
his  lips.  But  they  were  uttered  only  within  his  imagin- 
ation. The  venerable  Father  Wilson  continued  to  step 
slowly  onward,  looking  carefully  at  the  muddy  pathway 
before  his  feet,  and  never  once  turning  his  head  towards 
the  guilty  platform.  When  the  light  of  the  glimmering 
lantern  had  faded  quite  away,  the  minister  discovered,  by 
the  faintness  which  came  over  him,  that  the  last  few  mo- 
ments had  been  a  crisis  of  terrible  anxiety ;  although  his 
mind  had  made  an  involuntary  effort  to  relieve  itself  by 
a  kind  of  lurid  playfulness. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  like  grisly  sense  of  the  humor- 
ous again  stole  in  among  the  solemn  phantoms  of  his 
thought.  He  felt  his  limbs  growing  stiff  with  the  unac- 
customed chilliness  of  the  night,  and  doubted  whether  he 
should  be  able  to  descend  the  steps  of  the  scaffold. 
Morning  would  break,  and  find  him  there.  The  neigh- 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  175 

horhood  would  begin  to  rouse  itself.  The  earliest  riser, 
coming  forth  in  the  dim  twilight,  would  perceive  a,  vague- 
ly defined  figure  aloft  on  the  place  of  shame ;  and,  half 
crazed  betwixt  alarm  and  curiosity,  would  go,  knocking 
from  door  to  door,  summoning  all  the  people  to  behold 
the  ghost  —  as  he  needs  must  think  it —  of  some  defunct 
transgressor.  A  dusky  tumult  would  flap  its  wings  from 
one  house  to  another.  Then  —  the  morning  light  still 
waxing  stronger — old  patriarchs  would  rise  up  in  great 
haste,  each  in  his  flannel  gown,  and  matronly  dames, 
without  pausing  to  put  off  their  night-gear.  The  whole 
tribe  of  decorous  personages,  who  had  never  heretofore 
been  seen  with  a  single  hair  of  their  heads  awry,  would 
start  into  public  view,  with  fhe  disorder  of  a  nightmare 
in  their  aspects.  Old  Governor  Bellingham  would  come 
grimly  forth,  with  his  King  James'  ruff  fastened  askew  ; 
and  Mistress  Hibbins,  with  some  twigs  of  the  forest  cling- 
ing to  her  skirts,  and  looking  sourer  than  ever,  as  having 
hardly  got  a  wink  of  sleep  after  her  night  ride ;  and  good 
Father  Wilson,  too,  after  spending  half  the  night  at  a 
death-bed,  and  liking  ill  to  be  disturbed,  thus  early,  out 
of  his  dreams  about  the  glorified  saints.  Hither,  like- 
wise, would  come  the  elders  and  deacons  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  church,  and  the  young  \  irgins  who  so  idolized  their 
minister,  and  had  made  a  shrine  for  him  in  their  white 
bosoms  ;  which  now,  by  the  by,  in  their  hurry  and  con- 
fusion, they  would  scantly  have  given  themselves  time 
to  cover  with  their  kerchiefs.  All  people,  in  a  word, 
would  come  stumbling  over  their  thresholds,  and  turning 
up  their  amazed  and  horror-stricken  visages  around  the 
scaffold.  Whom  would  they  discern  there,  with  the  red 
eastern  light  upon  his  brow  ?  Whom,  but  the  Reverend 


176  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Arthur  Dimmesdale,  half  frozen  to  death,  overwhelmed 
with  shame,  and  standing  where  Hester  Prynne  had 
stood ! 

Carried  away  by  the  grotesque  horror  of  this  picture, 
the  minister,  unawares,  and  to  his  own  infinite  alarm, 
burst  into  a  great  peal  of  laughter.  It  was  immediately 
responded  to  by  a  light,  airy,  childish  laugh,  in  which 
with  a  thrill  of  the  heart,  —  but  he  knew  not  whether  of 
exquisite  pain,  or  pleasure  as  acute,  —  he  recognized  the 
tones  of  little  Pearl. 

"Pearl!  Little  Pearl-!"  cried  he,  after  a  moment's 
pause ;  then,  suppressing  his  voice,  —  "  Hester !  Hester 
Prynne  !  Are  you  there  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  Hester  Prynne  !  "  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise ;  and  the  minister  heard  her  footsteps  approach- 
ing from  the  sidewalk,  along  which  she  had  been  passing. 
"  It  is  I,  and  my  little  Pearl." 

"Whence  come  you,  Hester?"  asked  the  minister. 
"  What  sent  you  hither?" 

"  I  have  been  watching  at  a  death-bed,"  answered  Hes- 
ter Prynne  ;  —  "at  Governor  Winthrop's  death-bed,  and 
have  taken  his  measure  for  a  robe,  and  am  now  going 
homeward  to  my  dwelling." 

"  Come  up  hither,  Hester,  thou  and  little  Pearl,"  said 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  Ye  have  both  been 
here  before,  but  I  was  not  with  you.  Come  up  hither 
once  again,  and  we  will  stand  all  three  together  ! " 

She  silently  ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  on  the  plat- 
form, holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand.  The  minister  felt 
for  the  child's  other  hand,  and  took  it.  The  moment 
that  he  did  so,  there  came  what  seemed  a  tumultuous 
rush  of  new  life,  other  life  than  his  own,  pouring  like  a 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  177 

torrent  into  his  heart,  and  hurrying  through  all  his 
veins,  as  if  the  mother  and  the  child  were  communi- 
cating their  vital  warmth  to  his  half-torpid  system.  The 
three  formed  an  electric  chain. 

"  Minister!  "  whispered  little  Pearl. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  say,  child  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale. 

"  Wilt  thou  stand  here  with  mother  and  me,  to-mor- 
row noontide  ?  "  inquired  Pearl. 

"  Nay  ;  not  so,  my  little  Pearl,"  answered  the  minis- 
ter ;  for,  with  the  new  energy  of  the  moment,  all  the 
dread  of  public  exposure,  that  had  so  long  been  the 
anguish  of  his  life,  had  returned  upon  him ;  and  he  was 
already  trembling  at  the  conjunction  in  which  —  with  a 
strange  joy,  nevertheless  —  he  now  found  himself.  "  Not 
so,  my  child.  I  shall,  indeed,  stand  with  thy  mother 
and  thee  one  other  day,  but  not  to-morrow." 

Pearl  laughed,  and  attempted  to  pull  away  her  hand. 
But  the  minister  held  it  fast. 

"  A  moment  longer,  my  child !  "  said  he. 

"  But  wilt  thou  promise,"  asked  Pearl,  "  to  take  my 
hand,  and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  ?  " 

"Not  then,  Pearl,"  said  the  minister,  " but  another 
time." 

"  And  what  other  time  ?  "  persisted  the  child. 

"  At  the  great  judgment  day,"  whispered  the  minis- 
ter, —  and,  strangely  enough,  the  sense  that  he  was  a 
professional  teacher  of  the  truth  impelled  him  to  answer 
the  child  so.  "  Then,  and  there,  before  the  judgment- 
seat,  thy  mother,  and  thou,  and  I,  must  stand  together. 
But  the  daylight  of  this  world  shall  not  see  our  meet- 
ing!" 

12 


178  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Pear  laughed  again. 

But,  before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  done  speaking,  a 
light  gleamed  far  and  wide  over  all  the  muffled  sky.  It 
was  doubtless  caused  by  one  of  those  meteors,  which 
the  night-watcher  may  so  often  observe  burning  out  to 
waste,  in  the  vacant  regions  of  the  atmosphere.  So 
powerful  was  its  radiance,  that  it  thoroughly  illuminated 
the  dense  medium  of  cloud  betwixt  the  sky  and  earth. 
The  great  vault  brightened,  like  the  dome  of  an  im- 
mense lamp.  It  showed  the  familiar  scene  of  the 
street,  with  the  distinctness  of  mid-day,  but  also  with 
the  awfulness  that  is  always  imparted  to  familiar  objects 
by  an  unaccustomed  light.  The  wooden  houses,  with 
their  jutting  stories  and  quaint  gable-peaks ;  the  door- 
steps and  thresholds,  with  the  early  grass  springing  up 
about  them ;  the  garden-plots,  black  with  freshly  turned 
earth ;  the  wheel-track,  little  worn,  and,  even  in  the 
market-place,  margined  with  green  on  either  side ;  — 
all  were  visible,  but  with  a  singularity  of  aspect  that 
seemed  to  give  another  moral  interpretation  to  the  things 
of  this  world  than  they  had  ever  borne  before.  And  there 
stood  the  minister,  with  his  hand  over  his  heart ;  and 
Hester  Prynne,  with  the  embroidered  letter  glimmering 
on  her  bosom ;  and  little  Pearl,  herself  a  symbol,  and 
the  connecting  link  between  those  two.  They  stood  in 
the  noon  of  that  strange  and  solemn  splendor,  as  if  it 
were  the  light  that  is  to  reveal  all  secrets,  and  the  day- 
break that  shall  unite  all  who  belong  to  one  another. 

There  was  witchcraft  in  little  PearPs  eyes ,  and  her 
face,  as  she  glanced  upward  at  the  minister,  wore  that 
naughty  smile  which  made  its  expression  frequently  so 
elvish.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mr.  Dimmesdale' s, 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  179 

and  pointed  across  the  street.  But  he  clasped  both  his 
hands  over  his  breast,  and  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
zenith. 

Nothing  was  more  common,  in  those  days,  than  to 
interpret  all  meteoric  appearances,  and  other  natural 
phenomena,  that  occurred  with  less  regularity  than  the 
rise  and  set  of  sun  and  moon,  as  so  many  revelations 
from  a  supernatural  source.  Thus,  a  blazing  spear,  a 
sword  of  flame,  a  bow,  or  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  seen  in  the 
midnight  sky,  prefigured  Indian  warfare.  Pestilence 
was  known  to  have  been  foreboded  by  a  shower  of 
crimson  light.  We  doubt  whether  any  marked  event, 
for  good  or  evil,  ever  befell  New  England,  from  its  set- 
tlement down  to  Revolutionary  times,  of  which  the  in- 
habitants had  not  been  previously  warned  by  some  spec- 
tacle of  this  nature.  Not  seldom,  it  had  been  seen  by 
multitudes.  Oftener,  however,  its  credibility  rested  on 
the  faith  of  some  lonely  eye-witness,  who  beheld  the 
wonder  through  the  colored,  magnifying,  and  distorting 
medium  of  his  imagination,  and  shaped  it  more  distinctly 
in  his  after-thought.  It  was,  indeed,  a  majestic  idea, 
that  the  destiny  of  nations  should  be  revealed,  in  these 
awful  hieroglyphics,  on  the  cope  of  heaven.  A  scroll  so 
wide  might  not  be  deemed  too  expansive  for  Provi- 
dence to  write  a  people's  doom  upon.  The  belief  wTas  a 
favorite  one  with  our  forefathers,  as  betokening  that 
their  infant  commonwealth  was  under  a  celestial  guar- 
dianship of  peculiar  intimacy  and  strictness.  But  what 
shall  we  say,  when  an  individual  discovers  a  revelation, 
addressed  to  himself  alone,  on  the  same  vast  sheet  of 
record  !  In  such  a  case,  it  could  only  be  the  symptom 
of  a  highly  disordered  mental  state,  when  a  man,  ren- 


180  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

dered  morbidly  self-contemplative  by  long,  intense,  and 
secret  pain,  had  extended  his  egotism  over  the  whole 
expanse  of  nature,  until  the  firmament  itself  should  ap- 
pear no  more  than  a  fitting  page  for  his  soul's  history  and 
fate ! 

We  impute  it,  therefore,  solely  to  the  disease  in  his 
own  eye  and  heart,  that  the  minister,  looking  upward 
to  the  zenith,  beheld  there  the  appearance  of  an  im- 
mense letter,  —  the  letter  A, — marked  out  in  lines  of 
dull  red  light.  Not  but  the  meteor  may  have  shown 
itself  at  that  point,  burning  duskily  through  a  veil  of 
cloud ;  but  with  no  such  shape  as  his  guilty  imagina- 
tion gave  it ;  or,  at  least,  with  so  little  definiteness,  that 
another's  guilt  might  have  seen  another  symbol  in  it. 

There  was  a  singular  circumstance  that  characterized 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  psychological  state,  at  this  moment. 
All  the  time  that  he  gazed  upward  to  the  zenith,  he 
was,  nevertheless,  perfectly  aware  that  little  Pearl  was 
pointing  her  finger  towards  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
who  stood  at  no  great  distance  from  the  scaffold.  The 
minister  appeared  to  see  him,  with  the  same  glance  that 
discerned  the  miraculous  letter.  To  his  features,  as  to 
all  other  objects,  the  meteoric  light  imparted  a  new  ex- 
pression ;  or  it  might  well  be  that  the  physician  was  not 
careful  then,  as  at  all  other  times,  to  hide  the  malevolence 
with  which  he  looked  upon  his  victim.  Certainly,  if  the 
meteor  kindled  up  the  sky,  and  disclosed  the  earth,  with 
an  awfulness  that  admonished  Hester  Prynne  and  the 
clergyman  of  the  day  of  judgment,  then  might  Roger 
Chillingworth  have  passed  with  them  for  the  arch-fiend, 
standing  there  with  a  smile  and  scowl,  to  claim  his  own. 
So  vivid  was  the  expression,  or  so  intense  the  minister's 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  181 

perception  of  it,  that  it  seemed  still  to  remain  painted  on 
the  darkness,  after  the  meteor  had  vanished,  with  an 
effect  as  if  the  street  and  all  things  else  were  at  once 
annihilated . 

"Who  is  that  man,  Hester?"  gasped  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  overcome  with  terror.  "  I  shiver'  at  him  !  Dost 
thou  know  the  man  ?  I  hate  him,  Hester  ! " 

She  remembered  her  oath,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  tell  thee,  my  soul  shivers  at  him  !  "  muttered  the 
minister  again.  "  Who  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Canst 
thou  do  nothing  for  me  ?  I  have  a  nameless  horror  of 
the  man !" 

"  Minister,"  said  little  Pearl,  "  I  can  tell  thee  who  he 


is! 


t » 


"  Quickly,  then,  child  !  "  said  the  minister,  bending 
his  ear  close  to  her  lips.  "  Quickly  !  —  and  as  low  as 
thou  canst  whisper." 

Pearl  mumbled  something  into  his  ear,  that  sounded, 
indeed,  like  human  language,  but  was  only  such  gibber- 
ish as  children  may  be  heard  amusing  themselves  with, 
by  the  hour  together.  At  all  events,  if  it  involved  any 
secret  information  in  regard  to  old  Roger  Chillingworth , 
it  was  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the  erudite  clergyman, 
and  did  but  increase  the  bewilderment  of  his  mind. 
The  elvish  child  then  laughed  aloud. 

"  Dost  thou  mock  me  now  ? "  said  the  minister. 

11  Thou  wast  not  bold  !  —  thou  wast  not  true  !  "  — 
answered  the  child.  "  Thou  wouldst  not  promise  to 
take  my  hand,  and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noon- 
tide !  " 

"  Worthy  Sir,"  answered  the  physician,  who  had  now 
advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  platform.  "  Pious  Master 


182  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Dimmesdale  !  can  this  be  you  ?  Well,  well,  indeed  ! 
We  men  of  study,  whose  heads  are  in  our  books,  have 
need  to  be  straitly  looked  after !  We  dream  in  our 
waking  moments,  and  walk  in  our  sleep.  Come,  good 
Sir,  and  my  dear  friend,  I  pray  you,  let  me  lead  you 
home ! " 

"  How  knewest  thou  that  I  was  here  ? "  asked  the 
minister,  fearfully. 

"  Verily,  and  in  good  faith,"  answered  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  "  I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  I  had  spent 
the  better  part  of  the  night  at  the  bedside  of  the  wor- 
shipful Governor  Winthrop,  doing  what  my  poor  skill 
might  to  give  him  ease.  He  going  home  to  a  better 
world,  I,  likewise,  was  on  my  way  homeward,  when  this 
strange  light  shone  out.  Come  with  me,  I  beseech  you, 
Reverend  Sir ;  else  you  will  be  poorly  able  to  do  Sab- 
bath duty  to-morrow.  Aha  !  see  now,  how  they  trouble 
the  brain,  —  these  books  !  —  these  books  !  You  should 
study  less,  good  Sir,  and  take  a  little  pastime  ;  or  these 
night- whimseys  will  grow  upon  you." 

"  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 

With  a  chill  despondency,  like  one  awaking,  all  nerve- 
less, from  an  ugly  dream,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  phy- 
sician, and  was  led  away. 

The  next  day,  however,  being  the  Sabbath,  he  preached 
a  discourse  which  was  held  to  be  the  richest  and  most 
powerful,  and  the  most  replete  with  heavenly  influences, 
that  had  ever  proceeded  from  his  lips.  Souls,  it  is  said, 
more  souls  than  one,  were  brought  to  the  truth  by  the 
efficacy  of  that  sermon,  and  vowed  within  themselves  to 
cherish  a  holy  gratitude  to  wards  Mr.  Dimmesdale  through- 
out the  long  hereafter.  But,  as  he  came  down  the  pul- 


THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL.  183 

pit  steps,  the  gray-bearded  sexton  met  him,  holding  up  a 
black  glove,  which  the  minister  recognized  as  his  own 

"  It  was  found,"  said  the  sexton,  "  this  morning,  on 
the  scaffold  where  evil-doers  are  set  up  to  public  shame. 
Satan  dropped  it  there,  I  take  it,  intending  a  scurrilous 
jest  against  your  reverence.  But,  indeed,  he  was  blind 
and  foolish,  as  he  ever  and  always  is.  A  pure  hand 
needs  no  glove  to  cover  it ! " 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  minister, 
gravely,  but  startled  at  heart ;  for,  so  confused  was  his 
remembrance,  that  he  had  almost  brought  himself  to 
look  at  the  events  of  the  past  night  as  visionary.  "  Yes, 
it  seems  to  be  my  glove,  indeed ! " 

"  And,  since  Satan  saw  fit  to  steal  it,  your  reverence 
must  needs  handle  him  without  gloves,  henceforward," 
remarked  the  old  sexton,  grimly  smiling.  "  But  did 
your  reverence  hear  of  the  portent  that  was  seen  last 
night? — a  great  red  letter  in  the  sky,  —  the  letter  A, 
which  we  interpret  to  stand  for  Angel.  For,  as  our 
good  Governor  Winthrop  was  made  an  angel  this  past 
night,  it  was  doubtless  held  fit  that  there  should  be 
some  notice  thereof! " 

"  No,"  answered  the  minister,  "  1  had  not  heard 
of  it" 


184  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XIII. 

ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER. 

IN  her  late  singular  interview  with  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
Hester  Prynne  was  shocked  at  the  condition  to  which 
she  found  the  clergyman  reduced.  His  nerve  seemed 
absolutely  destroyed.  His  moral  force  was  abased  into 
more  than  childish  weakness.  It  grovelled  helpless  on 
the  ground,  even  while  his  intellectual  faculties  re- 
tained their  pristine  strength,  or  had  perhaps  acquired 
a  morbid  energy,  which  disease  only  could  have  given 
them.  With  her  knowledge  of  a  train  of  circumstances 
hidden  from  all  others,  she  could  readily  infer  that, 
besides  the  legitimate  action  of  his  own  conscience, 
a  terrible  machinery  had  been  brought  to  bear,  and  was 
still  operating,  on  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  well-being  and 
repose.  Knowing  what  this  poor,  fallen  man  had  once 
been,  her  whole  soul  was  moved  by  the  shuddering  ter- 
ror with  which  he  had  appealed  to  her,  —  the  outcast 
woman,  —  for  support  against  his  instinctively  discov- 
ered enemy.  She  decided,  moreover,  that  he  had  a 
right  to  her  utmost  aid.  Little  accustomed,  in  her  long 
seclusion  from  society,  to  measure  her  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong  by  any  standard  external  to  herself,  Hester 
saw  —  or  seemed  to  see  —  that  there  lay  a  responsibility 
upon  her,  in  reference  to  the  clergyman,  which  she  owed 
to  no  other,  nor  to  the  whole  world  besides.  The  links 
that  united  her  to  the  rest  of  human  kind — links  of 
flowers,  or  silk,  or  gold,  or  whatever  the  material  —  had 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  185 

all  been  broken.  Here  was  the  iron  link  of  mutual 
crime,  which  neither  he  nor  she  could  break.  Like  all 
other  ties,  it  brought  along-  with  it  its  obligations. 

Hester  Prynne  did  not  now  occupy  precisely  the 
same  position  in  which  we  beheld  her  during  the  earlier 
periods  of  her  ignominy.  Years  had  come  and  gone. 
Pearl  was  now  seven  years  old.  Her  mother,  with  the 
scarlet  letter  on  her  breast,  glittering  in  its  fantastic 
embroidery,  had  long  been  a  familiar  object  to  the 
townspeople  As  is  apt  to  be  the  case  when  a  person 
stands  out  in  any  prominence  before  the  community, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  interferes  neither  with  public  nor 
individual  interests  and  convenience,  a  species  of  gen- 
eral regard  had  ultimately  grown  up  in  reference  to 
Hester  Prynne.  It  is  to  the  credit  of  human  nature, 
that,  except  where  its  selfishness  is  brought  into  play,  • 
it  loves  more  readily  than  it  hates.  Hatred,  by  a  grad- 
ual and  quiet  process,  will  even  be  transformed  to  love, 
unless  the  change  be  impeded  by  a  continually  new 
irritation  of  the  original  feeling  of  hostility.  In  this 
matter  of  Hester  Prynne,  there  was  neither  irritation 
nor  irksomeness.  She  never  battled  with  the  public, 
but  submitted,  uncomplainingly,  to  its  worst  usage ;  she 
made  no  claim  upon  it,  in  requital  for  what  she  suf- 
fered ;  she  did  not  weigh  upon  its  sympathies.  Then, 
also,  the  blameless  purity  of  her  life  during  all  these 
years  in  which  she  had  been  set  apart  to  infamy,  was 
reckoned  largely  in  her  favor.  With  nothing  now  to 
lose,  in  the  sight  of  mankind,  and  with  no  hope,  and 
seemingly  no  wish,  of  gaining  anything,  it  could  only 
be  a  genuine  regard  for  virtue  that  had  brought  back 
the  poor  wanderer  to  its  paths. 


186  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

It  was  perceived,  too,  that  while  Hester  never  put 
forward  even  the  humblest  title  to  share  in  the  world's 
privileges,  —  further  than  to  breathe  the  common  air, 
and  earn  daily  bread  for  little  Pearl  and  herself  by  the 
faithful  labor  of  her  hands,  —  she  was  quick  to  acknowl- 
edge her  sisterhood  with  the  rice  of  man,  whenever 
benefits  were  to  be  conferred.  None  so  ready  as  she  to 
give  of  her  little  substance  to  every  demand  of  poverty ; 
even  though  the  bitter-hearted  pauper  threw  back  a  gibe 
in  requital  of  the  food  brought  regularly  to  his  door,  or 
the  garments  wrought  for  him  by  the  fingers  that  could 
have  embroidered  a  monarch's  robe.  None  so  self- 
devoted  as  Hester,  when  pestilence  stalked  through  the 
town.  In  all  seasons  of  calamity,  indeed,  whether 
general  or  of  individuals,  the  outcast  of  society  at  once 
found  her  place.  She  came,  not  as  a  guest,  but  as  a 
rightful  inmate,  into  the  household  that  was  darkened 
by  trouble;  as  if  its  gloomy  twilight  were  a  medium  in 
which  she  was  entitled  to  hold  intercourse  with  her 
fellow-creatures.  There  glimmered  the  embroidered 
letter,  with  comfort  in  its  unearthly  ray.  Elsewhere 
the  token  of  sin,  it  was  the  taper  of  the  sick-chamber. 
It  had  even  thrown  its  gleam,  in  the  sufferer's  hard  ex- 
tremity, across  the  verge  of  time.  It  had  shown  him 
where  to  set  his  foot,  while  the  light  of  earth  was  fast 
becoming  dim,  and  ere  the  light  of  futurity  could  reach 
him.  In  such  emergencies,  Hester's  nature  showed 
itself  warm  and  rich ;  a  well-spring  of  human  tender- 
ness, unfailing  to  every  real  demand,  and  inexhaustible 
by  the  largest.  Her  breast,  with  its  badge  of  shame, 
was  but  the  softer  pillow  for  the  head  that  needed  one. 
She  was  self-ordained  a  Sister  of  Mercy ;  or,  we  may 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  187 

rather  say,  the  world's  heavy  hand  had  so  ordained  her, 
when  neither  the  world  nor  she  looked  forward  to  this 
result.  The  letter  was  the  symbol  of  her  calling.  Such 
helpfulness  was  found  in  her,  —  so  much  power  to  do, 
and  power  to  sympathize,  —  that  many  people  refused 
to  interpret  the  scarlet  A  by  its  original  signification. 
They  said  that  it  meant  Able;  so  strong  was  Hester 
Prynne,  with  a  woman's  strength. 

It  was  only  the  darkened  house  that  could  contain 
her.  When  sunshine  came  again,  she  was  not  there. 
Her  shadow  had  faded  across  the  threshold.  The  help- 
ful inmate  had  departed,  without  one  backward  glance 
to  gather  up  the  meed  of  gratitude,  if  any  were  in  the 
hearts  of  those  whom  she  had  served  so  zealously. 
Meeting  them  in  the  street,  she  never  raised  her  head 
to  receive  their  greeting.  If  they  were  resolute  to 
accost  her,  she  laid  her  finger  on  the  scarlet  letter,  and 
passed  on.  This  might  be  pride,  but  was  so  like  hu- 
mility, that  it  produced  all  the  softening  influence  of 
the  latter  quality  on  the  public  mind.  The  public  is 
despotic  in  its  temper;  it  is  capable  of  denying  com- 
mon justice,  when  too  strenuously  demanded  as  a  right; 
but  quite  as  frequently  it  awards  more  than  justice, 
when  the  appeal  is  made,  as  despots  love  to  have  it 
made,  entirely  to  its  generosity.  Interpreting  Hester 
Prynne's  deportment  as  an  appeal  of  this  nature,  society 
was  inclined  to  show  its  former  victim  a  more  benign 
countenance  than  she  cared  to  be  favored  with,  or,  per- 
chance, than  she  deserved. 

The  rulers,  and  the  wise  and  learned  men  of  the 
community,  were  longer  in  acknowledging  the  influ- 
ence of  Hester's  good  qualities  than  the  people.  The 


188  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

prejudices  which  they  shared  in  common  with  the  lattei 
were  fortified  in  themselves  by  an  iron  framework  of 
reasoning,  that  made  it  a  far  tougher  labor  to  expel 
them.  Day  by  day,  nevertheless,  their  sour  and  rigid 
wrinkles  were  relaxing  into  something  which,  in  the 
due  course  of  years,  might  grow  to  be  an  expression  of 
almost  benevolence.  Thus  it  was  with  the  men  of 
rank,  on  whom  their  eminent  position  imposed  the 
guardianship  of  the  public  morals.  Individuals  in  pri- 
vate life,  meanwhile,  had  quite  forgiven  Hester  Prynne 
for  her  frailty;  nay,  more,  they  had  begun  to  look  upon 
the  scarlet  letter  as  the  token,  not  of  that  one  sin,  for 
which  she  had  borne  so  long  and  dreary  a  penance, 
but  of  her  many  good  deeds  since.  "  Do  you  see  that 
woman  with  the  embroidered  badge?"  they  would  say 
to  strangers.  "It  is  our  Hester,  —  the  town's  own 
Hester,  —  who  is  so  kind  to  the  poor,  so  helpful  to  the 
sick,  so  comfortable  to  the  afflicted  !"  Then,  it  is  true, 
the  propensity  of  human  nature  to  tell  the  very  worst 
of  itself,  when  embodied  in  the  person  of  another,  would 
constrain  them  to  whisper  the  black  scandal  of  bygone 
years.  It  was  none  the  less  a  fact,  however,  that,  in 
the  .eyes  of  the  very  men  who  spoke  thus,  the  scarlet 
letter  had  the  effect  of  the  cross  on  a  nun's  bosom.  It 
imparted  to  the  wearer  a  kind  of  sacredness,  which 
enabled  her  to  walk  securely  amid  all  peril.  Had  she 
fallen  among  thieves,  it  would  have  kept  her  safe.  It 
was  reported,  and  believed  by  many,  that  an  Indian  had 
drawn  his  arrow  against  the  badge,  and  that  the  missile 
struck  it,  but  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 

The  effect  of  the  symbol  —  or,  rather,  of  the  position 
in  respect  to  society  that  was  indicated  by  it  —  on  the 


ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER.  189 

mind  of  Hester  Prynne  herself,  was  powerful  and  pecu- 
liar. All  the  light  and  graceful  foliage  of  her  charactei 
had  been  withered  up  by  this  red-hot  brand,  and  had 
long  ago  fallen  away,  leaving  a  bare  and  harsh  outline, 
which  might  have  been  repulsive,  had  she  possessed 
friends  or  companions  to  be  repelled  by  it.  Even  the 
attractiveness  of  her  person  had  undergone  a  similar 
change.  It  might  be  partly  owing  to  the  studied  aus- 
terity of  her  dress,  and  partly  to  the  lack  of  demonstra- 
tion in  her  manners.  It  was  a  sad  transformation,  too, 
that  her  rich  and  luxuriant  hair  had  either  been  cut  off, 
or  was  so  completely  hidden  by  a  cap,  that  not  a  shining 
lock  of  it  ever  once  gushed  into  the  sunshine.  It  was 
due  in  part  to  all  these  causes,  but  still  more  to  some- 
thing else,  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  longer  anything 
in  Hester's  face  for  Love  to  dwell  upon;  nothing  in 
Hester's  form,  though  majestic  and  statue-like,  that  Pas- 
sion would  ever  dream  of  clasping  in  its  embrace ;  noth- 
ing in  Hester's  bosom,  to  make  it  ever  again  the  pillow 
of  Affection.  Some  attribute  had  departed  from  her,  the 
permanence  of  which  had  been  essential  to  keep  her  a 
woman.  Such  is  frequently  the  fate,  and  such  the  stern 
development,  of  the  feminine  character  and  person,  when 
the  woman  has  encountered,  and  lived  through,  an  ex- 
perience of  peculiar  severity.  If  she  be  all  tenderness, 
she  will  die.  If  she  survive,  the  tenderness  will  either 
be  crushed  out  of  her,  or  —  and  the  outward  semblance 
is  the  same  —  crushed  so  deeply  into  her  heart  that 
it  can  never  show  itself  more.  The  latter  is  perhaps 
the  truest  theory.  She  who  has  once  been  woman, 
and  ceased  to  be  so,  might  at  any  moment  become  a 
woman  again,  if  there  were  only  the  magic  touch  to 


190  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

effect  the  transfiguration.  We  shall  see  whether  Hestel 
Prynne  were  ever  afterwards  so  touched,  and  so  trans- 
figured. 

Much  of  the  marble  coldness  of  Hester's  impression 
was  to  be  attributed  to  the  circumstance,  that  her  life 
had  turned,  in  a  great  measure,  from  passion  and  feeling, 
to  thought.  Standing  alone  in  the  world,  —  alone,  as  to 
any  dependence  on  society,  and  with  little  .Pearl  to  be 
guided  and  protected,  —  alone,  and  hopeless  of  retrieving 
her  position,  even  had  she  nut  scorned  to  consider  it 
desirable,  —  she  cast  away  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
chain.  The  world's  law  was  no  law  for  her  mind.  It 
was  an  age  in  which  the  human  intellect,  newly  eman- 
cipated, had  taken  a  more  active  and  a  wider  range  than 
for  many  centuries  before.  Men  of  the  sword  had  over- 
thrown nobles  and  kings.  Men  bolder  than  these  had 
overthrown  and  rearranged  —  not  actually,  but  within 
the  sphere  of  theory,  which  was  their  most  real  abode  — 
the  whole  system  of  ancient  prejudice,  wherewith  was 
linked  much  of  ancient  principle.  Hester  Prynne  im- 
bibed this  spirit.  She  assumed  a  freedom  of  speculation, 
then  common  enough  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
but  which  our  forefathers,  had  they  known  it,  would  have 
held  to  be  a  deadlier  crime  than  that  stigmatized  by  the 
scarlet  letter.  In  her  lonesome  cottage,  by  the  sea-shore, 
thoughts  visited  her,  such  as  dared  to  enter  no  other 
dwelling  in  New  England ;  shadowy  guests,  that  would 
have  been  as  perilous  as  demons  to  their  entertainer, 
could  they  have  been  seen  so  much  as  knocking  at  her 
door. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  persons  who  speculate  the  most 
boldly  often  conform  with  the  most  perfect  quietude  to 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  191 

the  external  regulations  of  society.  The  thought  suffices 
them,  without  investing  itself  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of 
action.  So  it  seemed  to  be  with  Hester.  Yet,  had  little 
Pearl  never  come  to  her  from  the  spiritual  world,  it  might 
have  been  far  otherwise.  Then,  she  might  have  come 
down  to  us  in  history,  hand  in  hand  with  Ann  Hutchin- 
son,  as  the  foundress  of  a  religious  sect.  She  might, 
in  one  of  her  phases,  have  been  a  prophetess.  She 
might,  and  not  improbably  would,  have  suffered  death 
from  the  stern  tribunals  of  the  period,  for  attempting  to 
undermine  the  foundations  of  the  Puritan  establishment. 
But,  in  the  education  of  her  child,  the  mother's  enthusi- 
asm of  thought  had  something  to  wreak  itself  upon. 
Providence,  in  the  person  of  this  little  girl,  had  assigned 
to  Hester's  charge  the  germ  and  blossom  of  womanhood, 
to  be  cherished  and  developed  amid  a  host  of  difficulties. 
Everything  was  against  her.  The  world  was  hostile. 
The  child's  own  nature  had  something  wrong  in  it, 
which  continually  betokened  that  she  had  been  born 
amiss,  —  the  effluence  of  her  mother's  lawless  passion, 
—  and  often  impelled  Hester  to  ask,  in  bitterness  of 
heart,  whether  it  were  for  ill  or  good  that  the  poor  little 
creature  had  been  born  at  all. 

Indeed,  the  same  dark  question  often  rose  into  her 
mind,  with  reference  to  the  whole  race  of  womanhood. 
Was  existence  worth  accepting,  even  to  the  happiest 
among  them  ?  As  concerned  her  own  individual  exist- 
ence, she  had  long  ago  decided  in  the  negative,  and  dis- 
missed the  point  as  settled.  A  tendency  to  speculation, 
though  it  may  keep  woman  quiet,  as  it  does  man,  yet 
makes  her  sad.  She  discerns,  it  may  be,  such  a  hope- 
less task  before  her.  As  a  first  step,  the  whole  system 


192  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  society  is  to  be  torn  down,  and  built  up  anew.  Then, 
the  very  nature  of  the  opposite  sex,  or  its  long  hereditary 
habit,  which  has  become  like  nature,  is  to  be  essentially 
modified,  before  woman  can  be  allowed  to  assume  what 
seems  a  fair  and  suitable  position.  Finally,  all  other 
difficulties  being  obviated,  woman  cannot  take  advantage 
of  these  preliminary  reforms,  until  she  herself  shall  have 
undergone  a  still  mightier  change ;  in  which,  perhaps, 
the  ethereal  essence,  wherein  she  has  her  truest  life,  will 
be  found  to  have  evaporated.  A  woman  never  overcomes 
these  problems  by  any  exercise  of  thought.  They  are 
not  to  be  solved,  or  only  in  one  way.  If  her  heart  chance 
to  come  uppermost,  they  vanish.  Thus,  Hester  Prynne, 
whose  heart  had  lost  its  regular  and  healthy  throb,  wan- 
dered without  a  clew  in  the  dark  labyrinth  of  mind;  now 
turned  aside  by  an  insurmountable  precipice ;  now  start- 
ing back  from  a  deep  chasm.  There  was  wild  and 
ghastly  scenery  all  around  her,  and  a  home  and  comfort 
nowhere.  At  times,  a  fearful  doubt  strove  to  possess  her 
soul,  whether  it  were  not  better  to  send  Pearl  at  once  to 
heaven,  and  go  herself  to  such  futurity  as  Eternal  Jus- 
tice should  provide. 

The  scarlet  letter  had  not  done  its  office. 

Now,  however,  her  interview  with  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  on  the  night  of  his  vigil,  had  given  her  a 
new  theme  of  reflection,  and  held  up  to  her  an  object 
that  appeared  worthy  of  any  exertion  and  sacrifice  for  its 
attainment.  She  had  witnessed  the  intense  misery  be- 
neath which  the  minister  struggled,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  had  ceased  to  struggle.  She  saw  that  he 
stood  on  the  verge  of  lunacy,  if  he  had  not  already 
stepped  across  it.  It  was  impossible  to  doubt,  that,  what- 


ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER.  193 

ever  painful  efficacy  there  might  be  in  the  secret  sting 
of  remorse,  a  deadlier  venom  had  been  infused  into  it  by 
the  hand  that  proffered  relief.  A  secret  enemy  had  been 
continually  by  his  side,  under  the  semblance  of  a  friend 
and  helper,  and  had  availed  himself  of  the  opportunities 
thus  afforded  for  tampering  with  the  delicate  springs  of 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  nature.  Hester  could  not  but  ask 
herself,  whether  there  had  not  originally  been  a  defect 
of  truth,  courage  and  loyalty,  on  her  own  part,  in  allow- 
ing the  minister  to  be  thrown  into  a  position  where  so 
much  evil  was  to  be  foreboded,  and  nothing  auspicious  to 
be  hoped.  Her  only  justification  lay  in  the  fact,  that  she 
had  been  able  to  discern  no  method  of  rescuing  him  from 
a  blacker  ruin  than  had  overwhelmed  herself,  except  by 
acquiescing  in  iloger  Chillingworth's  scheme  of  disguise. 
Under  that  impulse,  she  had  made  her  choice,  and  had 
chosen,  as  it  now  appeared,  the  more  wretched  alterna- 
tive of  the  two.  She  determined  to  redeem  her  error, 
so  far  as  it  might  yet  be  possible.  Strengthened  by  years 
of  hard  and  solemn  trial,  she  felt  herself  no  longer  so 
inadequate  to  cope  with  Roger  Chillingworth  as  on  that 
night,  abased  by  sin,  and  half  maddened  by  the  igno- 
miny that  was  still  new,  when  they  had  talked  together 
in  the  prison-chamber.  She  had  climbed  her  way, 
since  then,  to  a  higher  point.  The  old  man,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  brought  himself  nearer  to  her  level,  or 
perhaps  below  it,  by  the  revenge  which  he  had  stooped 
for. 

In  fine,  Hester  Prynne  resolved  to  meet  her  former 

husband,  and  do  what  might  be  in  her  power  for  the 

rescue  of  the  victim  on  whom  he  had  so  evidently  set 

his  gripe.     The  occasion  was  not  long  to  seek.     One 

13 


194  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

afternoon,  walking  with  Pearl  in  a  retired  part  of  the 
peninsula,  she  beheld  the  old  physician,  with  a  basket 
on  one  arm,  and  a  staff  in  the  other  hand,  stooping  along 
the  ground,  in  quest  of  roots  and  herbs  to  concoct  his 
medicines  withal. 


HESTER   AND   THE    PHYSICIAN.  195 


XIV. 

HESTER  AND  THE  PHYSICIAN. 

HESTER  bade  little  Pearl  run  down  to  the  margin  of 
the  water,  and  play  with  the  shells  and  tangled  sea- 
weed, until  she  should  have  talked  awhile  with  yonder 
gatherer  of  herbs.  So  the  child  flew  away  like  a 
bird,  and,  making  bare  her  small  white  feet,  went  pat- 
tering along  the  moist  margin  of  the  sea.  Here  and 
there  she  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  peeped  curiously 
into  a  pool,  left  by  the  retiring  tide  as  a  mirror  for 
Pearl  to  see  her  face  in.  Forth  peeped  at  her,  out 
of  the  pool,  with  dark,  glistening  curls  around  her 
head,  and  an  elf-smile  in  her  eyes,  the  image  of  a 
little  maid,  whom  Pearl,  having  no  other  playmate, 
invited  to  take  her  hand,  and  run  a  race  with  her. 
But  the  visionary  little  maid,  on  her  part,  beckoned 
likewise,  as  if  to  say,  — "  This  is  a  better  place ! 
Come  thou  into  the  pool!"  And  Pearl,  stepping  in, 
mid-leg  deep,  beheld  her  own  white  feet  at  the  bottom ; 
while,  out  of  a  still  lower  depth,  came  the  gleam  of  a 
kind  of  fragmentary  smile,  floating  to  and  fro  in  the 
agitated  water. 

Meanwhile,  her  mother  had  accosted  the  physician. 

"  3  would  speak  a  word  with  you,"  said  she,  —  "a 
word  that  concerns  us  much." 

"Aha!  and  is  it  Mistress  Hester  that  has  a  word 
for  old  Roger  Chillingworth  ? "  answered  he,  raising 
himself  from  his  stooping  posture.  "With  all  my 


196  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

heart !  Why,  Mistress,  I  hear  good  tidings  of  you 
on  all  hands !  No  longer  ago  than  yester-eve,  a  magis- 
trate, a  wise  and  godly  man,  was  discoursing  of  your 
affairs,  Mistress  Hester,  and  whispered  me  that  there 
had  been  question  concerning  you  in  the  council. 
It  was  debated  whether  or  no,  with  safety  to  the  com- 
mon weal,  yonder  scarlet  letter  might  be  taken  off  your 
bosom.  On  my  life,  Hester,  I  made  my  entreaty  to  the 
worshipful  magistrate  that  it  might  be  done  forth- 
with!" 

"  It  lies  not  in  the  pleasure  of  the  magistrates  to  take 
off  this  badge,"  calmly  replied  Hester.  "  Were  I 
worthy  to  be  quit  of  it,  it  would  fall  away  of  its  own 
nature,  or  be  transformed  into  something  that  should 
speak  a  different  purport." 

"  Nay,  then,  wear  it,  if  it  suit  you  better,"  rejoined 
he.  "A  woman  must  needs  follow  her  own  fancy, 
touching  the  adornment  of  her  person.  The  letter  is 
gayly  embroidered,  and  shows  right  bravely  on  your 
bosom ! " 

All  this  while,  Hester  had  been  looking  steadily  at 
the  old  man,  and  was  shocked,  as  well  as  wonder- 
smitten,  to  discern  what  a  change  had  been  wrought 
upon  him  within  the  past  seven  years.  It  was  not  so 
much  that  he  had  grown  older ;  for  though  the  traces  of 
advancing  life  were  visible,  he  bore  his  age  well,  and 
seemed  to  retain  a  wiry  vigor  and  alertness.  But  the 
former  aspect  of  an  intellectual  and  studious  man,  calm 
arid  quiet,  which  was  what  she  best  remembered  in 
him,  had  altogether  vanished,  and  been  succeeded 
by  an  eager,  searching,  almost  fierce,  yet  carefully 
guarded  look.  It  seemed  to  be  his  wish  and  purpose  to 


HESTER    AND   THE    PHYSICIAN.  197 

mask  this  expression  with  a  smile ;  but  the  latter 
played'  him  false,  and  flickered  over  his  visage  so 
derisively,  that  the  spectator  could  see  his  blackness 
all  the  better  for  it.  Ever  and  anon,  too,  there  came 
a  glare  of  red  light  out  of  his  eyes ;  as  if  the  old 
man's  soul  were  on  fire,  and  kept  on  smouldering 
duskily  within  his  breast,  until,  by  some  casual  puff 
of  passion,  it  was  blown  into  a  momentary  flame.  This 
he  repressed,  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  strove  to  look 
as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had  happened. 

In  a  word,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  striking 
evidence  of  man's  faculty  of  transforming  himself  into 
a  devil,  if  he  will  only,  for  a  reasonable  space  of 
time,  undertake  a  devil's  office.  This  unhappy  person 
had  effected  such  a  transformation,  by  devoting  himself, 
for  seven  years,  to  the  constant  analysis  of  a  heart  full 
of  torture,  and  deriving  his  enjoyment  thence,  and 
adding  fuel  to  those  fiery  tortures  which  he  analyzed 
and  gloated  over. 

The  scarlet  letter  burned  on  Hester  Prynne's  bosom. 
Here  was  another  ruin,  the  responsibility  of  which  came 
partly  home  to  her. 

"What  see  you  in  my  face,"  asked  the  physician, 
"  that  you  look  at  it  so  earnestly  ?  " 

"  Something  that  would  make  me  weep,  if  there  were 
any  tears  bitter  enough  for  it,"  answered  she.  "But 
let  it  pass  !  It  is  of  yonder  miserable  man  that  I  would 
speak." 

"And  what  of  him?"  cried  Roger  Chillingworth, 
eagerly,  as  if  he  loved  the  topic,  and  were  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  discuss  it  with  the  only  person  of  whom 
he  could  make  a  confidant.  "Not  to  hide  the  truth, 


198  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Mistress  Hester,  my  thoughts  happen  just  now  to  be 
busy  with  the  gentleman.  So  speak  freely ;  and  I  will 
make  answer." 

"  When  we  last  spake  together,"  said  Hester,  "  now 
seven  years  ago,  it  was  your  pleasure  to  extort  a 
promise  of  secrecy,  as  touching  the  former  relation 
betwixt  yourself  and  me.  As  the  life  and  good  fame 
of  yonder  man  were  in  your  hands,  there  seemed  no 
choice  to  me,  save  to  be  silent,  in  accordance  with 
your  behest.  Yet  it  was  not  without  heavy  misgiv- 
ings that  I  thus  bound  myself;  for,  having  cast  off 
all  duty  towards  other  human  beings,  there  remained  a 
duty  towards  him ;  and  something  whispered  me  that 
I  was  betraying  it,  in  pledging  myself  to  keep  your 
counsel.  Since  that  day,  no  man  is  so  near  to  him 
as  you.  You  tread  behind  his  every  footstep.  You 
are  beside  him,  sleeping  and  waking.  You  search 
his  thoughts.  You  burrow  and  rankle  in  his  heart ! 
Your  clutch  is  on  his  life,  and  you  cause  him  to 
die  daily  a  living  death ;  and  still  he  knows  you 
not.  In  permitting  this,  I  have  surely  acted  a  false 
part  by  the  only  man  to  whom  the  power  was  left  me 
to  be  true  ! " 

"What  choice  had  you?"  asked  Roger  Chilling- 
worth.  "  My  finger,  pointed  at  this  man,  would  have 
hurled  him  from  his  pulpit  into  a  dungeon,  —  thence, 
perad venture,  to  the  gallows  ! " 

"  It  had  been  better  so  ! "  said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  What  evil  have  I  done  the  man  ? "  asked  Roger 
Chillingworth  again.  "I  tell  thee,  Hester  Prynne, 
the  richest  fee  that  ever  physician  earned  from  monarch 
could  not  have  bought  such  care  as  I  have  wasted 


HESTER    AND   THE    PHYSICIAN.  199 

on  this  miserable  priest!  But  for  my  aid,  his  life 
would  have  burned  away  in  torments,  within  the  first 
two  years  after  the  perpetration  of  his  crime  and 
thine.  For,  Hester,  his  spirit  lacked  the  strength  that 
could  have  borne  up,  as  thine  has,  beneath  a  burden  like 
thy  scarlet  letter.  O,  I  could  reveal  a  goodly  secret ! 
But  enough !  What  art  can  do,  I  have  exhausted  on 
him.  That  he  now  breathes,  and  creeps  about  on  earth, 
is  owing  all  to  me ! " 

"  Better  he  had  died  at  once ! "  said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  Yea,  woman,  thou  sayest  truly ! "  cried  old  Roger 
Chillingworth,  letting  the  lurid  fire  of  his  heart  blaze 
out  before  her  eyes.  "  Better  had  he  died  at  once  ! 
Never  did  mortal  suffer  what  this  man  has  suffered. 
And  all,  all,  in  the  sight  of  his  worst  enemy!  He 
has  been  conscious  of  me.  He  has  felt  an  influence 
dwelling  always  upon  him  like  a  curse.  He  knew, 
by  some  spiritual  sense,  —  for  the  Creator  never  made 
another  being  so  sensitive  as  this,  —  he  knew  that 
no  friendly  hand  was  pulling  at  his  heart-strings,  and 
that  an  eye  was  looking  curiously  into  him,  which 
sought  only  evil,  and  found  it.  But  he  knew  not 
that  the  eye  and  hand  were  mine  !  With  the  super- 
stition common  to  his  brotherhood,  he  fancied  himself 
given  over  to  a  fiend,  to  be  tortured  with  frightful 
dreams,  and  desperate  thoughts,  the  sting  of  remorse, 
and  despair  of  pardon;  as  a  foretaste  of  what  awaits 
him  beyond  the  grave.  But  it  was  the  constant  shadow 
of  my  presence  !  —  the  closest  propinquity  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  most  vilely  wronged !  —  and  who  had 
grown  to  exist  only  by  this  perpetual  poison  of  the 
direst  revenge  !  Yea,  indeed  !  —  he  did  not  err  !  — 


200  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

there  was  a  fiend  at  his  elbow !  A  mortal  man,  with 
once  a  human  heart,  has  become  a  fiend  for  his  especial 
torment ! " 

The  unfortunate  physician,  while  uttering  these 
words,  lifted  his  hands  with  a  look  of  horror,  as  if  he 
had  beheld  some  frightful  shape,  which  he  could  not 
recognize,  usurping  the  place  of  his  own  image  in  a 
glass.  It  was  one  of  those  moments — which  sometimes 
occur  only  at  the  interval  of  years  —  when  a  man's 
moral  aspect  is  faithfully  revealed  to  his  mind's  eye. 
Not  improbably,  he  had  never  before  viewed  himself  as 
he  did  now. 

"Hast  thou  not  tortured  him  enough?"  said  Hester, 
noticing  the  old  man's  look.  "  Has  he  not  paid  thee 
all?" 

"  No !  —  no !  —  He  has  but  increased  the  debt ! " 
answered  the  physician;  and  as  he  proceeded,  his 
manner  lost  its  fiercer  characteristics,  and  subsided 
into  gloom.  "  Dost  thou  remember  me,  Hester,  as  I 
was  nine  years  agone  ?  Even  then,  I  was  in  the 
autumn  of  my  days,  nor  was  it  the  early  autumn. 
But  all  my  life  had  been  made  up  of  earnest,  studious, 
thoughtful,  quiet  years,  bestowed  faithfully  for  the  in- 
crease of  mine  own  knowledge,  and  faithfully,  too, 
though  this  latter  object  was  but  casual  to  the  other, 
—  faithfully  for  the  advancement  of  human  welfare. 
No  life  had  been  more  peaceful  and  innocent  than 
mine ;  few  lives  so  rich  with  benefits  conferred.  Dost 
thou  remember  me  ?  Was  I  not,  though  you  might 
deem  me  cold,  nevertheless  a  man  thoughtful  for 
others,  craving  little  for  himself,  —  kind,  true,  just,  and 


HESTER   AND   THE    PHYSICIAN.  201 

of  constant,  if  not  warm  affections  ?  Was  I  not  all 
this?" 

"  All  this,  and  more,"  said  Hester. 

"And  what  am  I  now?"  demanded  he,  looking 
into  her  face,  and  permitting  the  whole  evil  within 
him  to  be  written  on  his  features.  "  I  have  already 
told  thee  what  I  am  !  A  fiend !  Who  made  me 
so?" 

"  It  was  myself! "  cried  Hester,  shuddering.  "  It  was 
I,  not  less  than  he.  Why  hast  thou  not  avenged  thyself 
on  me?" 

"  I  have  left  thee  to  the  scarlet  letter,"  replied  Roger 
Chillingworth.  "  If  that  have  not  avenged  me,  I  can  do 
no  more ! " 

He  laid  his  finger  on  it,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  has  avenged  thee  ! "  answered  Hester  Prynne. 

"  I  judged  no  less,"  said  the  physician.  "  And  now, 
what  wouldst  thou  with  me  touching  this  man  ? " 

"  I  must  reveal  the  secret,"  answered  Hester,  firmly. 
"  He  must  discern  thee  in  thy  true  character.  What 
may  be  the  result,  I  know  not.  But  this  long  debt 
of  confidence,  due  from  me  to  him,  whose  bane  and 
ruin  I  have  been,  shall  at  length  be  paid.  So  far 
as  concerns  the  overthrow  or  preservation  of  his  fail 
fame  and  his  earthly  state,  and  perchance  his  life 
he  is  in  thy  hands.  Nor  do  I,  —  whom  the  scarlet 
letter  has  disciplined  to  truth,  though  it  be  the  truth 
of  red-hot  iron,  entering  into  the  soul,  —  nor  do  I  per- 
ceive such  advantage  in  his  living  any  longer  a  life 
of  ghastly  emptiness,  that  I  shall  stoop  to  implore  thy 
mercy.  Do  with  him  as  thou  wilt !  There  is  no  good 
for  him,  —  no  good  for  me,  —  no  good  for  thee  I  There 


202  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

is  no  good  for  little  Pearl !  There  is  no  path  to  guide 
us  out  of  this  dismal  maze  ! " 

"  Woman,  I  could  well-nigh  pity  thee ! "  said  Roger 
Chilling  worth,  unable  to  restrain  a  thrill  of  admiration 
too;  for  there  was  a  quality  almost  majestic  in  the 
despair  which  she  expressed.  "  Thou  hadst  great 
elements.  Peradventure,  hadst  thou  met  earlier  with 
a  better  love  than  mine,  this  evil  had  not  been.  I 
pity  thee,  for  the  good  that  has  been  wasted  in  thy 
nature ! " 

"  And  I  thee,"  answered  Hester  Prynne,  "  for  the 
hatred  that  has  transformed  a  wise  and  just  man  to 
a  fiend!  Wilt  thou  yet  purge  it  out  of  thee,  and  be 
once  more  human?  If  not  for  his  sake,  then  doubly 
for  thine  own !  Forgive,  and  leave  his  further  retribu- 
tion to  the  Power  that  claims  it!  I  said,  but  now, 
that  there  could  be  no  good  event  for  him,  or  thee, 
or  me,  who  are  here  wandering  together  in  this  gloomy 
maze  of  evil,  and  stumbling,  at  every  step,  over  the 
guilt  wherewith  we  have  strewn  our  path.  It  is  not  so ! 
There  might  be  good  for  thee,  and  thee  alone,  since 
thou  hast  been  deeply  wronged,  and  hast  it  at  thy  will  to 
pardon.  Wilt  thou  give  up  that  only  privilege  ?  Wilt 
thou  reject  that  priceless  benefit  ?  " 

"  Peace,  Hester,  peace ! "  replied  the  old  man,  with 
gloomy  sternness.  "It  is  not  granted  me  to  pardon. 
I  have  no  such  power  as  thou  tellest  me  of.  My  old 
faith,  long  forgotten,  comes  back  to  me,  and  explains  all 
that  we  do,  and  all  we  suffer.  By  thy  first  step  awry, 
thou  didst  plant  the  germ  of  evil ;  but  since  that  mo- 
ment, it  has  all  been  a  dark  necessity.  Ye  that  have 
wronged  me  are  not  sinful,  save  in  a  kind  of  typical  illu- 


HESTER   AND   THE    PHYSICIAN.  203 

sion;  neither  am  I  fiend-like,  who  have  snatched  a 
fiend's  office  from  his  hands.  It  is  our  fate.  Let  the 
black  flower  blossom  as  it  may !  Now  go  thy  ways,  and 
deal  as  thou  wilt  with  yonder  man." 

He  waived  his  hand,  and  betook  himself  again  to  his 
employment  of  gathering  herbs. 


THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 


XV. 

HESTER  AND   PEARL. 

So  Roger  Chillingworth  —  a  deformed  old  figure, 
with  a  face  that  haunted  men's  memories  longer  than 
they  liked  —  took  leave  of  Hester  Prynne,  and  went 
stooping  away  along  the  earth.  He  gathered  here  and 
there  an  herb,  or  grubbed  up  a  root,  and  put  it  into  the 
basket  on  his  arm.  His  gray  beard  almost  touched  the 
ground,  as  he  crept  onward.  Hester  gazed  after  him 
a  little  while,  looking  with  a  half  fantastic  curiosity  to 
see  whether  the  tender  grass  of  early  spring  would  not 
be  blighted  beneath  him,  and  show  the  wavering  track 
of  his  footsteps,  sere  and  brown,  across  its  cheerful 
verdure.  She  wondered  what  sort  of  herbs  they  were, 
which  the  old  man  was  so  sedulous  to  gather.  Would 
not  the  earth,  quickened  to  an  evil  purpose  by  the  sym- 
pathy of  his  eye,  greet  him  with  poisonous  shrubs,  of 
species  hitherto  unknown,  that  would  start  up  under  his 
fingers  ?  Or  might  it  suffice  him,  that  every  wholesome 
growth  should  be  converted  into  something  deleterious 
and  malignant  at  his  touch  ?  Did  the  sun,  which  shone 
so  brightly  everywhere  else,  really  fall  upon  him  ?  Or 
was  there,  as  it  rather  seemed,  a  circle  of  ominous 
shadow  moving  along  with  his  deformity,  whichever 
way  he  turned  himself?  And  whither  was  he  now 
going?  Would  he  not  suddenly  sink  into  the  earth, 
leaving  a  barren  and  blasted  spot,  where,  in  due  course 
of  time,  would  be  seen  deadly  nightshade,  dogwood,  hen- 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  205 

bane,  and  whatever  else  of  vegetable  wickedness  the  cli- 
mate could  produce,  all  flourishing  with  hideous  luxu- 
riance ?  Or  would  he  spread  bat's  wings  and  flee  away, 
looking  so  much  the  uglier,  the  higher  he  rose  towards 
heaven  ? 

"  Be  it  sin  or  no,"  said  Hester  Prynne,  bitterly,  as  she 
still  gazed  after  him,  "  I  hate  the  man  !  " 

She  upbraided  herself  for  the  sentiment,  but  could  not 
overcome  or  lessen  it.  Attempting  to  do  so,  she  thought 
of  those  long-past  days,  in  a  distant  land,  when  he  used 
to  emerge  at  eventide  from  the  seclusion  of  his  study, 
and  sit  down  in  the  fire-light  of  their  home,  and  in  the 
light  of  her  nuptial  smile.  He  needed  to  bask  himself 
in  that  smile,  he  said,  in  order  that  the  chill  of  so  many 
lonely  hours  among  his  books  might  be  taken  off  the 
scholar's  heart.  Such  scenes  had  once  appeared  not  other- 
wise than  happy,  but  now,  as  viewed  through  the  dismal 
medium  of  her  subsequent  life,  they  classed  themselves 
among  her  ugliest  remembrances.  She  marvelled  how 
such  scenes  could  have  been !  She  marvelled  how  she 
could  ever  have  been  wrought  upon  to  marry  him !  She 
deemed  it  her  crime  most  to  be  repented  of,  that  she  had 
ever  endured,  and  reciprocated,  the  lukewarm  grasp  of 
his  hand,  and  had  suffered  the  smile  of  her  lips  and  eyes 
to  mingle  and  melt  into  his  own.  And  it  seemed  a  fouler 
offence  committed  by  Roger  Chillingworth,  than  any 
which  had  since  been  done  him,  that,  in  the  time  when 
her  heart  knew  no  better,  he  had  persuaded  her  to  fancy 
herself  happy  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,  I  hate  him  ! "  repeated  Hester,  more  bitterly 
than  before.  "  He  betrayed  me  !  He  has  done  me  worse 
wrong  than  I  did  him !  " 


206  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Let  men  tremble  to  win  the  hand  of  woman,  unless 
they  win  along  with  it  the  utmost  passion  of  her  heart ! 
Else  it  may  be  their  miserable  fortune,  as  it  was  Roger 
Chillingworth's,  when  some  mightier  touch  than  their 
own  may  have  awakened  all  her  sensibilities,  to  be  re- 
proached even  for  the  calm  content,  the  marble  image  of 
happiness,  which  they  will  have  imposed  upon  her  as  the 
warm  reality.  But  Hester  ought  long  ago  to  have  done 
with  this  injustice.  What  did  it  betoken  ?  Had  seven 
long  years,  under  the  torture  of  the  scarlet  letter,  in- 
flicted so  much  of  misery,  and  wrought  out  no  repent- 
ance ? 

The  emotions  of  that  brief  space,  while  she  stood  gaz- 
ing after  the  crooked  figure  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
threw  a  dark  light  on  Hester's  state  of  mind,  revealing 
much  that  she  might  not  otherwise  have  acknowledged 
to  herself. 

He  being  gone,  she  summoned  back  her  child. 

"  Pearl !     Little  Pearl !     Where  are  you  ?  " 

Pearl,  whose  activity  of  spirit  never  flagged,  had  been 
at  no  loss  for  amusement  while  her  mother  talked  with 
the  old  gatherer  of  herbs.  At  first,  as  already  told,  she 
had  flirted  fancifully  with  her  own  image  in  a  pool  of 
water,  beckoning  the  phantom  forth,  and —  as  it  declined 
to  venture  —  seeking  a  passage  for  herself  into  its  sphere 
of  impalpable  earth  and  unattainable  sky.  Soon  finding, 
however,  that  either  she  or  the  image  was  unreal,  she 
turned  elsewhere  for  better  pastime.  She  made  little 
boats  out  of  birch-bark,  and  freighted  them  with  snail- 
shells,  and  sent  out  more  ventures  on  the  mighty  deep 
than  any  merchant  in  New  England ;  but  the  larger  part 
of  them  foundered  near  the  shore.  She  seized  a  live 


HESTER    AND    PEA.RL.  207 

horse-shoe  by  the  tail,  and  made  prize  of  several  five- 
fingers,  and  laid  out  a  jelly-fish  to  melt  in  the  warm  sun. 
Then  she  took  up  the  white  foam,  that  streaked  the  line 
of  the  advancing  tide,  and  threw  it  upon  the  breeze, 
scampering  after  it,  with  winged  footsteps,  to  catch  the 
great  snow-flakes  ere  they  fell.  Perceiving  a  flock  of 
beach-birds,  that  fed  and  fluttered  along  the  shore,  the 
naughty  child  picked  up  her  apron  full  of  pebbles,  and, 
creeping  from  rock  to  rock  after  these  small  sea-fowl,  dis- 
played remarkable  dexterity  in  pelting  them.  One  little 
gray  bird,  with  a  white  breast,  Pearl  was  almost  sure, 
had  been  hit  by  a  pebble,  and  fluttered  away  with  a 
broken  wing.  But  then  the  elf-child  sighed,  and  gave 
up  her  sport ;  because  it  grieved  her  to  have  done  harm 
to  a  little  being  that  was  as  wild  as  the  sea-breeze,  or  as 
wild  as  Pearl  herself. 

Her  final  employment  was  to  gather  sea-weed,  of 
various  kinds,  and  make  herself  a  scarf,  or  mantle,  and 
a  head-dress,  and  thus  assume  the  aspect  of  a  little  mer- 
maid. She  inherited  her  mother's  gift  for  devising  drapery 
and  costume.  As  the  last  touch  to  her  mermaid's  garb, 
Pearl  took  some  eel-grass,  and  imitated,  as  best  she  could, 
on  her  own  bosom,  the  decoration  with  which  she  was  so 
familiar  on  her  mother's.  A  letter,  —  the  letter  A,  —  but 
freshly  green,  instead  of  scarlet!  The  child  bent  her 
chin  upon  her  breast,  and  contemplated  this  device  with 
strange  interest ;  even  as  if  the  one  only  thing  for  which 
she  had  been  sent  into  the  world  was  to  make  out  its 
hidden  import. 

"  I  wonder  if  mother  will  ask  me  what  it  means  ? " 
thought  Pearl. 

Just  then,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and  flitting 


208  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

along  as  lightly  as  one  of  the  little  sea-birds,  appeared 
before  Hester  Prynne,  dancing,  laughing,  and  pointing 
her  finger  to  the  ornament  upon  her  bosom. 

"  My  little  Pearl,"  said  Hester,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "the  green  letter,  and  on  thy  childish  bosom,  has 
no  purport.  But  dost  thou  know,  my  child,  what  this 
letter  means  which  thy  mother  is  doomed  to  wear  ? " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  child.  "  It  is  the  great  letter 
A.  Thou  hast  taught  me  in  the  horn-book." 

Hester  looked  steadily  into  her  little  face  ;  but,  though 
there  was  that  singular  expression  which  she  had  so  often 
remarked  in  her  black  eyes,  she  could  not  satisfy  herself 
whether  Pearl  really  attached  any  meaning  to  the  symbol. 
She  felt  a  morbid  desire  to  ascertain  the  point. 

"  Dost  thou  know,  child,  wherefore  thy  mother  wears 
this  letter?" 

"  Truly  do  I !  "  answered  Pearl,  looking  brightly  into 
her  mother's  face.  "It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  the 
minister  keeps  his  hand  over  his  heart !  " 

"  And  what  reason  is  that?  "  asked  Hester,  half  smil- 
ing at  the  absurd  incongruity  of  the  child's  observation  ; 
but,  on  second  thoughts,  turning  pale.  "  What  has  the 
letter  to  do  with  any  heart,  save  mine  ? " 

."  Nay,  mother,  I  have  told  all  I  know,"  said  Pearl, 
more  seriously  than  she  was  wont  to  speak.  "  Ask  yon- 
der old  man  whom  thou  hast  been  talking  with  !  It  may 
be  he  can  tell.  But  in  good  earnest  now,  mother  dear,  what 
does  this  scarlet  letter  mean  ?  —  and  why  dost  thou  wear 
it  on  thy  bosom  ?  —  and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his 
hand  over  his  heart? " 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes  with  an  earnestness  that  was  seldom 


HESTER    AND   PEARL.  209 

seen  in  her  wild  and  capricious  character.  The  thought 
occurred  to  Hester,  that  the  child  might  really  be  seeking 
to  approach  her  with  child-like  confidence,  and  doing 
what  she  could,  and  as  intelligently  as  she  knew  how,  to 
establish  a  meeting-point  of  sympathy.  It  showed  Pearl 
in  an  unwonted  aspect.  Heretofore,  the  mother,  whilo 
loving  her  child  with  the  intensity  of  a  sole  affection,  had 
schooled  herself  to  hope  for  little  other  return  thai?  the 
waywardness  of  an  April  breeze  ;  which  spends  its  time 
in  airy  sport,  and  has  its  gusts  of  inexplicable  passion,  and 
is  petulant  in  its  best  of  moods,  and  chills  oftener  than 
caresses  you,  when  you  take  it  to  your  bosom ;  in  requital 
of  which  misdemeanors,  it  will  sometimes,  of  its  own 
vague  purpose,  kiss  your  cheek  with  a  kind  of  doubtful 
tenderness,  and  play  gently  with  your  hair,  and  then 
begone  about  its  other  idle  business,  leaving  a  dreamy 
pleasure  at  your  heart.  And  this,  moreover,  was  a  moth- 
er's estimate  of  the  child's  disposition.  Any  other  ob- 
server might  have  seen  few  but  unamiable  traits,  and  have 
given  them  a  far  darker  coloring.  But  now  the  idea 
came  strongly  into  Hester's  mind,  that  Pearl,  with  her 
remarkable  precocity  and  acuteness,  might  already  have 
approached  the  age  when  she  could  be  made  a  friend, 
and  intrusted  with  as  much  of  her  mother's  sorrows  as 
could  be  imparted,  without  irreverence  either  to  the  parent 
or  the  child.  In  the  little  chaos  of  Pearl's  character, 
there  might  be  seen  emerging  —  and  could  have  been, 
from  the  very  first  —  the  steadfast  principles  of  an  un- 
flinching courage,  —  an  uncontrollable  will,  —  a  sturdy 
pride,  which  might  be  disciplined  into  self-respect,  —  and 
a  bitter  scorn  of  many  things,  which,  when  examined, 
might  be  found  to  have  the  taint  of  falsehood  in  them, 
14 


210  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

She  possessed  affections,  too,  though  hitherto  acrid  and 
disagreeable,  as  are  the  richest  flavors  of  unripe  fruit. 
With  all  these  sterling  attributes,  thought  Hester,  the 
evil  which  she  inherited  from  her  mother  must  he  great 
indeed,  if  a  noble  woman  do  not  grow  out  of  this  elfish 
child. 

Pearl's  inevitable  tendency  to  hover  about  the  enigma 
of  the  scarlet  letter  seemed  an  innate  quality  of  her 
being.  From  the  earliest  epoch  of  her  conscious  life,  she 
had  entered  upon  this  as  her  appointed  mission.  Hester 
had  often  fancied  that  Providence  had  a  design  of  justice 
and  retribution,  in  endowing  the  child  with  this  marked 
propensity ;  but  never,  until  now,  had  she  bethought  her- 
self to  ask,  whether,  linked  with  that  design,  there  might 
not  likewise  be  a  purpose  of  mercy  and  beneficence.  If 
little  Pearl  were  entertained  with  faith  and  trust,  as  a 
spirit  messenger  no  less  than  an  earthly  child,  might  it 
not  be  her  errand  to  soothe  away  the  sorrow  that  lay  cold 
in  her  mother's  heart,  and  converted  it  into  a  tomb  ?  — 
and  to  help  her  to  overcome  the  passion,  once  so  wild, 
and  even  yet  neither  dead  nor  asleep,  but  only  impris- 
oned within  the  same  tomb-like  heart  ? 

Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  now  stirred  in 
Hester's  mind,  with  as  much  vivacity  of  impression  as 
if  they  had  actually  been  whispered  into  her  ear.  And 
there  was  little  Pearl,  all  this  while,  holding  her  mother's 
hand  in  both  her  own,  and  turning  her  face  upward, 
while  she  put  these  searching  questions,  once,  and  again, 
and  still  a  third  time. 

"  What  does  the  letter  mean,  mother  ?  —  and  why 
dost  thou  wear  it  ?  —  and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his 
hand  over  his  heart  ? " 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  211 

"What  shall  I  say?"  thought  Hester  to  herself. 
"  No  !  If  this  be  the  price  of  the  child's  sympathy,  I 
cannot  pay  it." 

Then  she  spoke  aloud. 

"  Silly  Pearl,"  said  she,  "  what  questions  are  there  ? 
There  are  many  things  in  this  world  that  a  child  must 
not  ask  about.  What  know  I  of  the  minister's  heart  ? 
And  as  for  the  scarlet  letter,  I  wear  it  for  the  sake  of 
its  gold  thread." 

In  all  the  seven  bygone  years,  Hester  Prynne  had 
never  before  been  false  to  the  symbol  on  her  bosom.  It 
may  be  that  it  was  the  talisman  of  a  stern  and  severe, 
but  yet  a  guardian  spirit,  who  now  forsook  her;  as 
recognizing  that,  in  spite  of  his  strict  watch  over  her 
heart,  some  new  evil  had  crept  into  it,  or  some  old  one 
had  never  been  expelled.  As  for  little  Pearl,  the  ear- 
nestness soon  passed  out  of  her  face. 

But  the  child  did  not  see  fit  to  let  the  matter  drop. 
Two  or  three  times,  as  her  mother  and  she  went  home- 
ward, and  as  often  at  supper-time,  and  while  Hester  was 
putting  her  to  bed,  and  once  after  she  seemed  to  be  fairly 
asleep,  Pearl  looked  up,  with  mischief  gleaming  in  her 
black  eyes. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  what  does  the  scarlet  letter 
mean  ?  " 

And  the  next  morning,  the  first  indication  the  child 
gave  of  being  awake  was  by  popping  up  her  head  from 
the  pillow,  and  making  that  other  inquiry,  which  she 
had  so  unaccountably  connected  with  her  investigations 
about  the  scarlet  letter  :  — 

"  Mother  !  —  Mother  !  —  Why  does  the  minister  keep 
his  hand  o\er  his  heart  ?  " 


212  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  naughty  child ! "  answered  her 
mother,  with  an  asperity  that  she  had  never  permitted 
to  herself  before.  "  Do  not  tease  me ;  else  I  shall  shut 
thee  into  the  dark  closet ! " 


A    FOREST    WALK. 


XVI. 

A  FOREST  WALK. 

HESTER  PRYNNE  remained  constant  in  her  resolve  to 
make  known  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  whatever  risk  of 
present  pain  or  ulterior  consequences,  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  man  who  had  crept  into  his  intimacy.  For 
several  days,  however,  she  vainly  sought  an  opportunity 
of  addressing  him  in  some  of  the  meditative  walks 
which  she  knew  him  to  be  in  the  habit  of  taking,  along 
the  shores  of  the  peninsula,  or  on  the  wooded  hills  of  the 
neighboring  country.  There  would  have  been  no  scan- 
dal, indeed,  nor  peril  to  the  holy  whiteness  of  the  cler- 
gyman's good  fame,  had  she  visited  him  in  his  own 
study ;  where  many  a  penitent,  ere  now,  had  confessed 
sins  of  perhaps  as  deep  a  dye  as  the  one  betokened  by  the 
scarlet  letter  But,  partly  that  she  dreaded  the  secret  or 
undisguised  interference  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  and 
partly  that  Ker  conscious  heart  imputed  suspicion  where 
none  could  have  been  felt,  and  partly  that  both  the  min- 
ister and  she  would  need  the  whole  wide  world  to  breathe 
in,  while  they  talked  together,  —  for  all  these  reasons, 
Hester  never  thought  of  meeting  him  in  any  narrower 
privacy  than  beneath  the  open  sky. 

At  last,  while  attending  in  a  sick-chamber,  whither 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  been  summoned  to 
make  a  prayer,  she  learnt  that  he  had  gone,  the  day 
before,  to  visit  the  Apostle  Eliot,  among  his  Indian  con- 
verts. He  would  probably  return,  by  a  certain  hour,  in 


214  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  afternoon  of  the  morrow.  Betimes,  therefore,  the 
next  day,  Hester  took  little  Pearl,  —  who  was  necessa- 
rily the  companion  of  all  her  mother's  expeditions,  how- 
ever inconvenient  her  presence,  —  and  set  forth. 

The  road,  after  the  two  wayfarers  had  crossed  from 
the  peninsula  to  the  mainland,  was  no  other  than  a  foot- 
path. It  straggled  onward  into  the  mystery  of  the  pri- 
meval forest.  This  hemmed  it  in  so  narrowly,  and  stood 
so  black  and  dense  on  either  side,  and  disclosed  such 
imperfect  glimpses  of  the  sky  above,  that,  to  Hester's 
mind,  it  imaged  not  amiss  the  moral  wilderness  in  which 
she  had  so  long  been  wandering.  The  day  was  chill  and 
sombre.  Overhead  was  a  gay  expanse  of  cloud,  slightly 
stirred,  however,  by  a  breeze ;  so  that  a  gleam  of  flick- 
ering sunshine  might  now  and  then  be  seen  at  its  soli- 
tary play  along  the  path.  This  flitting  cheerfulness  was 
always  at  the  further  extremity  of  some  long  vista  through 
the  forest.  The  sportive  sunlight  —  feebly  sportive,  at 
best,  in  the  predominant  pensiveness  of  the  day  and 
scene  —  withdrew  itself  as  they  came  nigh,  and  left  the 
spots  where  it  had  danced  the  drearier,  because  they  had 
hoped  to  find  them  bright. 

"  Mother,"  said  little  Pearl,  "  the  sunshine  does  not 
love  you.  It  runs  away  and  hides  itself,  because  it  is 
afraid  of  something  on  your  bosom.  Now,  see  !  There 
it  is,  playing,  a  good  way  off.  Stand  you  here,  and  let 
me  run  and  catch  it.  I  am  but  a  child.  It  will  not  flee 
from  me  ;  for  I  wear  nothing  on  my  bosom  yet !  " 

"  Nor  ever  will,  my  child,  I  hope,"  said  Hester. 

"  And  why  not,  mother  ?  "  asked  Pearl,  stopping  short, 
just  at  the  beginning  of  her  race.  "  Will  not  it  come  of 
its  own  accord,  when  I  am  a  woman  grown  ?  " 


A   FOREST   WALK.  215 

"  Run  away,  child,"  answered  her  mother, "  and  catch 
the  sunshine  !  It  will  soon  be  gone." 

Pearl  set  forth,  at  a  great  pace,  and,  as  Hester  smiled 
to  perceive,  did  actually  catch  the  sunshine,  and  stood 
laughing  in  the  midst  of  it,  all  brightened  by  its  splen- 
dor, and  scintillating  with  the  vivacity  excited  by  rapid 
motion.  The  light  lingered  about  the  lonely  child,  as  if 
glad  of  such  a  playmate,  until  her  mother  had  drawn 
almost  nigh  enough  to  step  into  the  magic  circle  too. 

"  It  will  go  now,"  said  Pearl,  shaking  her  head. 

"  See  !  "  answered  Hester,  smiling.  "  Now  I  can 
stretch  out  my  hand,  and  grasp  some  of  it." 

As  she  attempted  to  do  so,  the  sunshine  vanished ; 
or,  to  judge  from  the  bright  expression  that  was  dancing 
on  Pearl's  features,  her  mothei  could  have  fancied  that 
the  child  had  absorbed  it  into  herself,  and  would  give  it 
forth  again,  with  a  gleam  about  her  path,  as  they  should 
plunge  into  some  gloomier  shade.  There  was  no  other 
attribute  that  so  much  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of 
new  and  untransmitted  vigor  in  Pearl's  nature,  as  this 
never-failing  vivacity  of  spirits  ;  she  had  not  the  disease 
of  sadness,  which  almost  all  children,  in  these  latter 
days,  inherit,  with  the  scrofula,  from  the  troubles  of  their 
ancestors.  Perhaps  this  too  was  a  disease,  and  but  the 
reflex  of  the  wild  energy  with  which  Hester  had  fought 
against  her  sorrows,  before  Pearl's  birth.  It  was  cer- 
tainly a  doubtful  charm,  imparting  a  hard,  metallic  lustre 
to  the  child's  character.  She  wanted  —  what  some  peo- 
ple want  throughout  life  —  a  grief  that  should  deeply 
touch  her,  and  thus  humanize  and  make  her  capable  of 
sympathy.  But  there  was  time  enough  yet  for  little 
Pearl. 


216  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Come,  my  child !  "  said  Hester,  looking  about  her 
from  the  spot  where  Pearl  had  stood  still  in  the  sun- 
shine. "  We  will  sit  down  a  little  way  within  the  wood, 
and  rest  ourselves." 

"  I  am  not  aweary,  mother,"  replied  the  little  girl. 
"  But  you  may  sit  down,  if  you  will  tell  me  a  story 
meanwhile." 

"  A  story,  child !  "  said  Hester.     "  And  about  what  ?  " 

"  0,  a  story  about  the  Black  Man,"  answered  Pearl, 
taking  hold  of  her  mother's  gown,  and  looking  up,  half 
earnestly,  half  mischievously,  into  her  face.  "  How  he 
haunts  this  forest,  and  carries  a  book  with  him,  —  a  big, 
heavy  book,  with  iron  clasps ;  and  how  this  ugly  Black 
Man  offers  his  book  and  an  iron  pen  to  everybody  that 
meets  him  here  among  the  trees ;  and  they  are  to  write 
their  names  with  their  own  blood.  And  then  he  sets  his 
mark  on  their  bosoms  !  Didst  thou  ever  meet  the  Black 
Man,  mother  ? " 

"  And  who  told  you  this  story,  Pearl  ? "  asked  her 
mother,  recognizing  a  common  superstition  of  the  period. 

"  It  was  the  old  dame  in  the  chimney-corner,  at  the 
house  where  you  watched  last  night,"  said  the  child. 
But  she  fancied  me  asleep  while  she  was  talking  of 
it.  She  said  that  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  people  had 
met  him  here,  and  had  written  in  his  book,  and  have  his 
mark  on  them.  And  that  ugly-tempered  lady,  old  Mis- 
tress Hibbins,  was  one.  And,  mother,  the  old  dame  said 
that  this  scarlet  letter  was  the  Black  Man's  mark  on 
thee,  and  that  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  when  thou 
meetest  him  at  midnight,  here  in  the  dark  wood.  Is  it 
true,  mother  ?  And  dost  thou  go  to  meet  him  in  the 
night-time  ?  " 


A  FOREST   WALK.  217 

" Didst  thou  ever  awake,  and  find  thy  mother  gone?'* 
asked  Hester. 

"  Not  that  1  remember,"  said  the  child.  "  If  thou 
fearest  to  leave  me  in  our  cottage,  thou  mightest  take 
me  along  with  thee.  I  would  very  gladly  go  !  But, 
mother,  tell  me  now !  Is  there  such  a  Black  Man  ? 
And  didst  thou  ever  meet  him  ?  And  is  this  his  mark  ? " 

"  Wilt  thou  let  me  be  at  peace,  if  I  once  tell  thee  ? " 
asked  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  if  thou  tellest  me  all,"  answered  Pearl. 

"  Once  in  my  life  I  met  the  Black  Man ! "  said  her 
mother.  "  This  scarlet  letter  is  his  mark !  " 

Thus  conversing,  they  entered  sufficiently  deep  into 
the  wood  to  secure  themselves  from  the  observation  of 
any  casual  passenger  along  the  forest  track.  Here  they 
sat  down  on  a  luxuriant  heap  of  moss ;  which,  at  some 
epoch  of  the  preceding  century,  had  been  a  gigantic 
pine,  with  its  roots  and  trunk  in  the  darksome  shade, 
and  its  head  aloft  in  the  upper  atmosphere.  It  was  a 
little  dell  where  they  had  seated  themselves,  with  a  leaf- 
strewn  bank  rising  gently  on  either  side,  and  a  brook 
flowing  through  the  midst,  over  a  bed  of  fallen  and 
drowned  leaves.  The  trees  impending  over  it  had 
flung  down  great  branches,  from  time  to  time,  which 
choked  up  the  current,  and  compelled  it  to  form  eddies 
and  black  depths  at  some  points;  while,  in  its  swifter 
and  livelier  passages,  there  appeared  a  channel-way  of 
pebbles,  and  brown,  sparkling  sand.  Letting  the  eyes 
follow  along  the  course  of  the  stream,  they  could  catch 
the  reflected  light  from  its  water,  at  some  short  distance 
within  the  forest,  but  soon  lost  all  traces  of  it  amid  the 
bewilderment  of  tree-trunks  and  underbrush,  and  here 


218  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  there  a  huge  rock  covered  over  with  gray  lichens. 
A.11  these  giant  trees  and  boulders  of  granite  seemed 
intent  on  making  a  mystery  of  the  course  of  this  small 
brook;  fearing,  perhaps,  that,  with  its  never-ceasing 
loquacity,  it  should  whisper  tales  out  of  the  heart  of  the 
old  forest  whence  it  flowed,  or  nurror  its  revelations  on 
the  smooth  surface  of  a  pool.  Continually,  indeed,  as  it 
stole  onward,  the  streamlet  kept  up  a  babble,  kind,  quiet, 
soothing,  but  melancholy,  like  the  voice  of  a  young  child 
that  was  spending  its  infancy  without  playfulness,  and 
knew  not  how  to  be  merry  among  sad  acquaintance  and 
events  of  sombre  hue. 

"  O  brook !  O  foolish  and  tiresome  little  brook ! " 
cried  Pearl,  after  listening  awhile  to  its  talk.  "  Why 
art  thou  so  sad  ?  Pluck  up  a  spirit,  and  do  not  be  all 
the  time  sighing  and  murmuring !  " 

But  the  brook,  in  the  course  of  its  little  lifetime 
among  the  forest-trees,  had  gone  through  so  solemn  an 
experience  that  it  could  not  help  talking  about  it,  and 
seemed  to  have  nothing  else  to  say.  Pearl  resembled 
the  brook,  inasmuch  as  the  current  of  her  life  gushed 
from  a  well-spring  as  mysterious,  and  had  flowed  through 
scenes  shadowed  as  heavily  with  gloom.  But,  unlike 
the  little  stream,  she  danced  and  sparkled,  and  prattled 
airily  along  her  course. 

"What  does  this  sad.  ] title  brook  say,  mother?" 
inquired  she. 

"  If  thou  hadst  a  sorrow  of  thine  own,  the  brook 
might  tell  thee  of  it,"  answered  her  mother,  "  even  as  it 
is  telling  me  of  mine !  But  now,  Pearl,  I  hear  a  foot- 
step along  the  path,  and  the  noise  of  one  putting  aside 


A    FOREST    WALK.  219 

the  branches.  I  would  have  thee  betake  thyself  to  play, 
and  leave  me  to  speak  with  him  that  comes  yonder." 

"  Is  it  the  Black  Man  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 

"  Wilt  thou  go  and  play,  child  ? "  repeated  her  mother 
"  But  do  not  stray  far  into  the  wood.  And  take  heed 
that  thou  come  at  my  first  call." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  Pearl.  "  But  if  it  be  the 
Black  Man,  wilt  thou  not  let  me  stay  a  moment,  and 
look  at  him,  with  his  big  book  under  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Go,  silly  child  !  "  said  her  mother,  impatiently.  "  It 
is  no  Black  Man !  Thou  canst  see  him  now,  through 
the  trees.  It  is  the  minister !  " 

"  And  so  it  is  !  "  said  the  child.  "  And,  mother,  he 
has  his  hand  over  his  heart !  Is  it  because,  when  the 
minister  wrote  his  name  in  the  book,  the  Black  Man  set 
his  mark  in  that  place  ?  But  why  does  he  not  wear  it 
outside  his  bosom,  as  thou  dost,  mother  ? " 

"  Go  now,  child,  and  thou  shalt  tease  me  as  thou  wilt 
another  time,"  cried  Hester  Prynne.  "  But  do  not  stray 
far.  Keep  where  thou  canst  hear  the  babble  of  the 
brook." 

The  child  went  singing  away,  following  up  the  cur- 
rent of  the  brook,  and  striving  to  mingle  a  more  light- 
some cadence  with  its  melancholy  voice.  But  the  little 
stream  would  not  be  comforted,  and  still  kept  telling  its 
unintelligible  secret  of  some  very  mournful  mystery 
that  had  happened  —  or  making  a  prophetic  lamentation 
about  something  that  was  yet  to  happen  —  within  the 
verge  of  the  dismal  forest.  So  Pearl,  who  had  enough 
of  shadow  in  her  own  little  life,  chose  to  break  off  all 
acquaintance  with  this  repining  brook.  She  set  herself, 
therefore,  to  gathering  violets  and  wood-anemones,  and 


220  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

some  scarlet  columbines  that  she  found  growing  in  the 
crevices  of  a  high  rock. 

When  her  elf-child  had  departed,  Hester  Prynne  made 
a  step  or  two  towards  the  track  that  led  through  the 
forest,  but  still  remained  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
trees.  She  beheld  the  minister  advancing  along  the 
path,  entirely  alone,  and  leaning  on  a  staff  which  he  had 
cut  by  the  way-side.  He  looked  haggard  and  feeble, 
and  betrayed  a  nerveless  despondency  in  his  air,  which 
had  never  so  remarkably  characterized  him  in  his  walks 
about  the  settlement,  nor  in  any  other  situation  where 
he  deemed  himself  liable  to  notice.  Here  it  was  wofully 
visible,  in  this  intense  seclusion  of  the  forest,  which  of 
itself  would  have  been  a  heavy  trial  to  the  spirits. 
There  was  a  listlessness  in  his  gait ;  as  if  he  saw  no 
reason  for  taking  one  step  further,  nor  felt  any  desire  to 
do  so,  but  would  have  been  glad,  could  he  be  glad  of 
anything,  to  fling  himself  down  at  the  root  of  the  nearest 
tree,  -and  lie  there  passive,  forevermore.  The  leaves 
might  bestrew  him,  and  the  soil  gradually  accumulate 
and  form  a  little  hillock  over  his  frame,  no  matter 
whether  there  were  life  in  it  or  no.  Death  was  too 
definite  an  object  to  be  wished  for,  or  avoided. 

To  Hester's  eye,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  ex- 
hibited no  symptom  of  positive  and  vivacious  suffering, 
except  that,  as  little  Pearl  had  remarked,  he  kept  his  hand 
over  his  heart. 


THE    PASTOR    AND   HIS   PARISHIONER.  221 


XVII. 

THE  PASTOR  AND  HIS  PARISHIONER. 

SLOWLY  as  the  minister  walked,  he  had  almost  gone 
by,  before  Hester  Prynne  could  gather  voice  enough  to 
attract  his  observation.  At  length,  she  succeeded. 

"  Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  "  she  said,  faintly  at  first ;  then 
louder,  but  hoarsely.  "  Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  " 

"  Who  speaks  ? "  answered  the  minister. 

Gathering  himself  quickly  up,  he  stood  more  erect, 
like  a  man  taken  by  surprise  in  a  mood  to  which  he 
was  reluctant  to  have  witnesses.  Throwing  his  eyes 
anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  he  indistinctly 
beheld  a  form  under  the  trees,  clad  in  garments  so 
sombre,  and  so  little  relieved  from  the  gray  twilight 
into  which  the  clouded  sky  and  the  heavy  foliage  had 
darkened  the  noontide,  that  he  knew  not  whether  it 
were  a  woman  or  a  shadow.  It  may  be,  that  his  path- 
way through  life  was  haunted  thus,  by  a  spectre  that 
had  stolen  out  from  among  his  thoughts. 

He  .made  a  step  nigher,  and  discovered  the  scarlet 
letter. 

"Hester!  Hester  Prynne!"  said  he.  "Is  it  thou? 
Art  thou  in  life  ?  " 

"Even  so!"  she  answered.  "In  such  life  as  has 
been  mine  these  seven  years  past!  And  thou,  Arthur 
Dimmesdale,  dost  thou  yet  live  ?  " 

It  was  no  wonder  that  they  thus  questioned  one 
another's  actual  and  bodily  existence,  and  even  doubted 


222  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  their  own.  So  strangely  did  they  meet,  in  the  dim 
wood,  that  it  was  like  the  first  encounter,  in  the  world 
beyond  the  grave,  of  two  spirits  who  had  been  inti- 
mately connected  in  their  former  life,  but  now  stood 
coldly  shuddering,  in  mutual  dread ;  as  not  yet  familiar 
with  their  state,  nor  wonted  to  the  companionship  of 
-disembodied  beings.  Each  a  ghost,  and  awe-stricken  at 
the  other  ghost !  They  were  awe-stricken  likewise  at 
themselves  ;  because  the  crisis  flung  back  to  them  their 
consciousness,  and  revealed  to  each  heart  its  history  and 
experience,  as  life  never  does,  except  at  such  breathless 
epochs.  The  soul  beheld  its  features  in  the  mirror  of 
the  passing  moment.  It  was  with  fear,  and  tremulously, 
and,  as  it  were,  by  a  slow,  reluctant  necessity,  that 
Arthur  Dimmesdale  put  forth  his  hand,  chill  as  death, 
and  touched  the  chill  hand  of  Hester  Prynne.  The 
grasp,  cold  as  it  was,  took  away  what  was  dreariest  in 
the  interview.  They  now  felt  themselves,  at  least, 
inhabitants  of  the  same  sphere. 

Without  a  word  more  spoken,  —  neither  he  nor  she 
assuming  the  guidance,  but  with  an  unexpressed  con- 
sent, —  they  glided  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods, 
whence  Hester  had  emerged,  and  sat  down  on  the  heap 
of  moss  where  she  and  Pearl  had  before  been  sitting. 
When  they  found  voice  to  speak,  it  was,  at  first,  only 
to  utter  remarks  and  inquiries  sucn  as  any  two  ac- 
quaintance might  have  made,  about  the  gloomy  sky,  the 
threatening  storm,  and,  next,  the  health  of  each.  Thus 
they  went  onward,  not  boldly,  but  step  by  step,  into  the 
themes  that  were  brooding  deepest  in  their  hearts.  So 
long  estranged  by  fate  and  circumstances,  they  needed 
something  slight  and  casual  to  run  before,  and  throw 


THE    PASTOR   AND   HIS    PARISHIONER.  223 

open  the  doors  of  intercourse,  so  that  their  real  thoughts 
might  be  led  across  the  threshold. 

After  a  while,  the  minister  fixed  his  eyes  on  Hester 
Prynne's. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  hast  thou  found  peace  ?  " 

She  smiled  drearily,  looking  down  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Hast  thou  ? "  she  asked. 

"  None  !  —  nothing  but  despair !  "  he  answered. 
"What  else  could  I  look  for,  being  what  I  am,  and 
leading  such  a  life  as  mine  ?  Were  I  an  atheist,  —  a 
man  devoid  of  conscience,  —  a  wretch  with  coarse  and 
brutal  instincts,  —  I  might  have  found  peace,  long  ere 
now.  Nay,  I  never  should  have  lost  it !  But,  as  matters 
stand  with  my  soul,  whatever  of  good  capacity  there 
originally  was  in  me,  all  of  God's  gifts  that  were  the 
choicest  have  become  the  ministers  of  spiritual  torment. 
Hester,  I  am  "most  miserable  !  " 

"  The  people  reverence  thee,"  said  Hester.  "  And 
surely  thou  workest  good  among  them !  Doth  this  bring 
thee  no  comfort  ?  " 

"  More  misery,  Hester !  —  only  the  more  misery !  " 
answered  the  clergyman,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  As  con- 
cerns the  good  which  I  may  appear  to  do,  I  have  no  faith 
in  it.  It  must  needs  be  a  delusion.  What  can  a  ruined 
soul,  like  mine,  effect  towards  the  redemption  of  other 
souls  ?  —  or  a  polluted  soul,  towards  their  purification  ? 
And  as  for  the  people's  reverence,  would  that  it  were 
turned  to  scorn  and  hatred  !  Canst  thou  deem  it,  Hes- 
ter, a  consolation,  that  I  must  stand  up  in  my  pulpit,  and 
meet  so  many  eyes  turned  upward  to  my  face,  as  if  the 
light  of  heaven  were  beaming  from  it !  —  must  see  my 
flock  hungry  for  the  truth,  and  listening  to  my  words  as 


224  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

if  a  tongue  of  Pentecost  were  speaking  !  —  and  then  look 
inward,  and  discern  the  black  reality  of  what  they  idol- 
ize ?  I  have  laughed,  in  bitterness  and  agony  of  heart, 
at  the  contrast  between  what  I  seem  and  what  I  am ! 
And  Satan  laughs  at  it !  " 

"  You  wrong  yourself  in  this,"  said  Hester,  gently. 
"  You  have  deeply  and  sorely  repented.  Your  sin  is  left 
behind  you,  in  the  days  long  past.  Your  present  life  is 
not  less  holy,  in  very  truth,  than  it  seems  in  people's 
eyes.  Is  there  no  reality  in  the  penitence  thus  sealed 
and  witnessed  by  good  works  ?  And  wherefore  should 
it  not  bring  you  peace  ?  " 

"  No,  Hester,  no  !  "  replied  the  clergyman.  "  There 
is  no  substance  in  it!  It  is  cold  and  dead,  and  can  do 
nothing  for  me  !  Of  penance,  I  have  had  enough  !  Of 
penitence,  there  has  been  none  !  Else,  I  should  long 
ago  have  thrown  off  these  garments  of  mock  holiness, 
and  have  shown  myself  to  mankind  as  they  will  see 
me  at  the  judgment-seat.  Happy  are  you,  Hester,  that 
wear  the  scarlet  letter  openly  upon  your  bosom !  Mine 
burns  in  secret !  Thou  little  knowest  what  a  relief  it 
is,  after  the  torment  of  a  seven  years'  cheat,  to  look  into 
an  eye  that  recognizes  me  for  what  I  am !  Had  I  one 
friend,  —  or  were  it  my  worst  enemy !  —  to  whom,  when 
sickened  with  the  praises  of  all  other  men,  I  could  daily 
betake  myself,  and  be  known  as  the  vilest  of  all  sinners, 
methinks  my  soul  might  keep  itself  alive  thereby.  Even 
thus  much  of  truth  would  save  me  !  But,  now,  it  is  all 
falsehood !  —  all  emptiness  !  —  all  death  !  " 

Hester  Prynne  looked  into  his  face,  but  hesitated  to 
speak.  Yet,  uttering  his  long-restrained  emotions  so 
vehemently  as  he  did,  his  words  here  offered  her  the 


THE    PASTOR   AND   HIS   PARISHIONER.  225 

very  point  of  circumstances  in  which  to  interpose  what 
she  came  to  say.  She  conquered  her  fears,  and  spoke. 

"  Such  a  friend  as  thou  hast  even  now  wished  for," 
said  she,  "  with  whom  to  weep  over  thy  sin,  thou  hast 
in  me,  the  partner  of  it ! "  —  Again  she  hesitated,  but 
brought  out  the  words  with  an  effort.  —  "  Thou  hast  long 
had  such  an  enemy,  and  dwellest  with  him,  under  the 
same  roof ! " 

The  minister  started  to  his  feet,  gasping  for  breath, 
and  clutching  at  his  heart,  as  if  he  would  have  torn  it 
out  of  his  bosom. 

"  Ha  !  What  sayest  thou ! "  cried  he.  "  An  enemy  ! 
And  under  mine  own  roof!  What  mean  you  ?  " 

Hester  Prynne  was  now  fully  sensible  of  the  deep 
injury  for  which  she  was  responsible  to  this  unhappy 
man,  in  permitting  him  to  lie  for  so  many  years,  or, 
indeed,  for  a  single  moment,  at  the  mercy  of  one  whose 
purposes  could  not  be  other  than  malevolent.  The  very 
contiguity  of  his  enemy,  beneath  whatever  mask  the  lat- 
ter might  conceal  himself,  was  enough  to  disturb  the 
magnetic  sphere  of  a  being  so  sensitive  as  Arthur  Dim- 
mesdale.  There  had  been  a  period  when  Hester  was 
less  alive  to  this  consideration ;  or,  perhaps,  in  the  mis- 
anthropy of  her  own  trouble,  she  left  the  minister  to  bear 
what  she  might  picture  to  herself  as  a  more  tolerable 
doom.  But  of  late,  since  the  night  of  his  vigil,  all  her 
sympathies  towards  him  had  been  both  softened  and 
invigorated.  She  now  read  his  heart  more  accurately. 
She  doubted  not,  that  the  continual  presence  of  Roger 
Chillingworth,  —  the  secret  poison  of  his  malignity,  in- 
fecting all  the  air  about  him,  —  and  his  authorized  inter- 
ference, as  a  physician,  with  the  minister's  physical  and 
15 


226  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

spiritual  infirmities,  —  that  these  bad  opportunities  had 
been  turned  to  a  cruel  purpose.  By  means  of  them,  the 
sufferer's  conscience  had  been  kept  in  an  irritated  state, 
the  tendency  of  which  was,  not  to  cure  by  wholesome 
pain,  but  to  disorganize  and  corrupt  his  spiritual  being. 
Its  result,  on  earth,  could  hardly  fail  to  be  insanity,  and 
hereafter,  that  eternal  alienation  from  the  Good  and  True, 
of  which  madness  is  perhaps  the  earthly  type. 

Such  was  the  ruin  to  which  she  had  brought  the  man, 
once,  —  nay,  why  should  we  not  speak  it  ?  —  still  so  pas- 
sionately loved !  Hester  felt  that  the  sacrifice  of  the 
clergyman's  good  name,  and  death  itself,  as  she  had 
already  told  Roger  Chillingworth,  would  have  been  infi- 
nitely preferable  to  the  alternative  which  she  had  taken 
upon  herself  to  choose.  And  now,  rather  than  have  had 
this  grievous  wrong  to  confess,  she  would  gladly  have 
lain  down  on  the  forest-leaves,  and  died  there,  at  Arthur 
Dimmesdale's  feet. 

"  O  Arthur,"  cried  she,  "  forgive  me  !  In  all  things 
else,  I  have  striven  to  be  true  !  Truth  was  the  one 
virtue  which  I  might  have  held  fast,  and  did  hold  fast, 
through  all  extremity;  save  when  thy  good,  —  thy  life, 

—  thy  fame,  —  were   put   in   question  !      Then  I  con- 
sented to*  a  deception.     But  a  lie  is  never  good,  even 
though  death  threaten  on  the  other  side  !     Dost  thou 
not  see  what  I  would  say  ?     That  old  man !  —  the  phy- 
sician!— he  whom  they  call  Roger  Chillingworth!  — 
he  was  my  husband  ! " 

The  minister  looked  at  her,  for  an  instant,  with  all 
that  violence  of  passion,  which  —  intermixed,  in  more 
shapes  than  one,  with  his  higher,  purer,  softer  qualities, 

—  was,  in  fact,  the   portion  of  him  which   the   Devil 


THE    PASTOR    AND   HIS    PARISHIONER.  227 

claimed,  and  through  which  he  sought  to  win  the  rest. 
Never  was  there  a  blacker  or  a  fiercer  frown  than  Hes- 
ter now  encountered.  For  the  brief  space  that  it  lasted, 
it  was  a  dark  transfiguration.  But  his  character  had 
been  so  much  enfeebled  by  suffering,  that  even  its  lower 
energies  were  incapable  of  more  than  a  temporary  strug- 
gle. He  sank  down  on  the  ground,  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  murmured  he.  "I  did 
know  it !  Was  not  the  secret  told  me,  in  the  natural 
recoil  of  my  heart,  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  as  often 
as  I  have  seen  him  since  ?  Why  did  I  not  understand  ? 
O  Hester  Prynne,  thou  little,  little  knowest  all  the  hor- 
ror of  this  thing  !  And  the  shame  !  —  the  indelicacy ! 
—  the  horrible  ugliness  of  this  exposure  of  a  sick  and 
guilty  heart  to  the  very  eye  that  would  gloat  over  it ! 
Woman,  woman,  thou  art  accountable  for  this  !  I  can- 
not forgive  thee  !  " 

"  Thou  shalt  forgive  me  !  "  cried  Hester,  flinging  her- 
self on  the  fallen  leaves  beside  him.     "  Let  God  pun 
ish  !     Thou  shalt  forgive  !  " 

With  sudden  and  desperate  tenderness,  she  threw  her 
arms  around  him,  and  pressed  his  head  against  her  bosom : 
little  caring  though  his  cheek  rested  on  the  scarlet  letter, 
He  would  have  released  himself,  but  strove  in  vain  to  do 
so.  Hester  would  not  set  him  free,  lest  he  should  look 
her  sternly  in  the  face.  All  the  world  had  frowned  on 
her,  —  for  seven  long  years  had  it  frowned  upon  this 
Jonely  woman,  —  and  still  she  bore  it  all,  nor  ever  once 
turned  away  her  firm,  sad  eyes.  Heaven,  likewise,  had 
frowned  upon  her,  and  she  had  not  died.  But  the  frown 


228  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  this  pale,  weak,  sinful,  and  sorrow-stricken  man  wa 
what  Hester  could  not  bear,  and  live  ! 

"  Wilt  thou  yet  forgive  me  ! "  she  repeated,  over  and 
over  again.  "  Wilt  thou  not  frown  ?  Wilt  thou  for- 
give?" 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  Hester,"  replied  the  minister,  at 
length,  with  a  deep  utterance,  out  of  an  abyss  of  sadness, 
but  no  anger.  "  I  freely  forgive  you  now.  May  God 
forgive  us  both  !  We  are  not,  Hester,  the  worst  sinners 
in  the  world.  There  is  one  worse  than  even  the  pol- 
luted priest !  That  old  man's  revenge  has  been  blacker 
than  my  sin.  He  has  violated,  in  cold  blood,  the  sanc- 
tity of  a  human  heart.  Thou  and  I,  Hester,  never  did 
so!" 

"  Never,  never  ! "  whispered  she.  "  What  we  did  had 
a  consecration  of  its  own.  We  felt  it  so  !  We  said  so 
to  each  other  !  Hast  thou  forgotten  it  ? " 

"  Hush,  Hester ! "  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  rising 
from  the  ground.  "  No ;  I  have  not  forgotten ! " 

They  sat  down  again,  side  by  side,  and  hand  clasped 
in  hand,  on  the  mossy  trunk  of  the  fallen  tree.  Life  had 
never  brought  them  a  gloomier  hour ;  it  was  the  point 
whither  their  pathway  had  so  long  been  tending,  and 
darkening  ever,  as  it  stole  along ;  —  and  yet  it  enclosed 
a  charm  that  made  them  linger  upon  it,  and  claim  an- 
other, and  another,  and,  after  all,  another  moment.  The 
forest  was  obscure  around  them,  and  creaked  with  a 
blast  that  was  passing  through  it.  The  boughs  were 
tossing  heavily  above  their  heads ;  while  one  solemn  old 
tree  groaned  dolefully  to  another,  as  if  telling  the  sad 
story  of  the  pair  that  sat  beneath,  or  constrained  to  fore- 
bode evil  to  come. 


THE    PASTOR    A.ND    HIS    PARISHIONER.  229 

And  yet  they  lingered.  How  dreary  looked  the  forest- 
track  that  led  backward  to  the  settlement,  where  Hester 
Prynne  must  take  up  again  the  burden  of  her  ignominy, 
and  the  minister  the  hollow  mockery  of  his  good  name  ! 
So  they  lingered  an  instant  longer.  No  golden  light  had 
ever  been  so  precious  as  the  gloom  of  this  dark  forest. 
Here,  seen  only  by  his  eyes,  the  scarlet  letter  need  not 
burn  into  the  bosom  of  the  fallen  woman !  Here,  seen 
only  by  her  eyes,  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  false  to  God  and 
man,  might  be,  for  one  moment,  true ! 

He  started  at  a  thought  that  suddenly  occurred  to 
him. 

"  Hester,"  cried  he,  "  here  is  a  new  horror  !  Roger 
Chillingworth  knows  your  purpose  to  reveal  his  true 
character.  Will  he  continue,  then,  to  keep  our  secret  ? 
What  will  now  be  the  course  of  his  revenge  ? " 

"  There  is  a  strange  secrecy  in  his  nature,"  replied 
Hester,  thoughtfully ;  "  and  it  has  grown  upon  him  by 
the  hidden  practices  of  his  revenge.  I  deem  it  not  likely 
that  he  will  betray  the  secret.  He  will  doubtless  seek 
other  means  of  satiating  his  dark  passion." 

"  And  I !  —  how  am  I  to  live  longer,  breathing  the 
same  air  with  this  deadly  enemy  ? "  exclaimed  Arthur 
Dimmesdale,  shrinking  within  himself,  and  pressing  his 
hand  nervously  against  his  heart,  —  a  gesture  that  had 
grown  involuntary  with  him.  "  Think  for  me,  Hester  ! 
Thou  art  strong.  Resolve  for  me  ! " 

"  Thou  must  dwell  no  longer  with  this  man,"  said 
Hester,  slowly  and  firmly.  "Thy  heart  must  be  no 
longer  under  his  evil  eye  ! " 

"  It  were  far  worse  than  death ! "  replied  the  minister. 
w<  But  how  to  avoid  it  ?  What  choice  remains  to  me  ? 


Xo\)  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

Shall  I  lie  down  again  on  these  withered  leaves,  where 
I  cast  myself  when  thou  didst  tell  me  what  he  was  ? 
Must  I  sink  down  there,  and  die  at  once  ?" 

"  Alas,  what  a  ruin  has  befallen  thee ! "  said  Hester, 
with  the  tears  gushing  into  her  eyes.  "  Wilt  thou  die 
for  very  weakness  ?  There  is  no  other  cause ! " 

"  The  judgment  of  God  is  on  me,"  answered  the  con- 
science-stricken priest.  "It  is  too  mighty  for  me  to 
struggle  with  ! " 

"  Heaven  would  show  mercy,"  rejoined  Hester,  "hadst 
thou  but  the  strength  to  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  Be  thou  strong  for  me  ! "  answered  he.  "Advise  me 
what  to  do." 

"  Is  the  world,  then,  so  narrow  ? "  exclaimed  Hester 
Prynne,  fixing  her  deep  eyes  on  the  minister's,  and  in- 
stinctively exercising  a  magnetic  power  over  a  spirit  so 
shattered  and  subdued  that  it  could  hardly  hold  itself 
erect.  "  Doth  the  universe  lie  within  the  compass  of 
yonder  town,  which  only  a  little  time  ago  was  but  a  leaf- 
strewn  desert,  as  lonely  as  this  around  us  ?  Whither 
leads  yonder  forest  track  ?  Backward  to  the  settlement, 
thou  sayest !  Yes ;  but  onward,  too !  Deeper  it  goes, 
and  deeper,  into  the  wilderness,  less  plainly  to  be  seen 
at  every  step;  until,  some  few  miles  hence,  the  yellow 
leaves  will  show  no  vestige  of  the  white  man's  tread. 
There  thou  art  free !  So  brief  a  journey  would  bring 
thee  from  a  world  where  thou  hast  been  most  wretched, 
to  one  where  thou  mayest  still  be  happy  !  Is  there  not 
shade  enough  in  all  this  boundless  forest  to  hide  thy 
heart  from  the  gaze  of  Roger  Chillingworth  ?  " 

"Yes,  Hester;  but  only  under  the  fallen  leaves!" 
leplied  the  minister,  with  a  sad  smile. 


THE    PASTOR   AND   HIS   PARISHIONER.  231 

"  Then  there  is  the  broad  pathway  of  the  sea ! "  con- 
tinued Hester.  "It  brought  thee  hither.  If  thou  so 
choose,  it  will  bear  thee  back  again.  In  our  native  land, 
whether  in  some  remote  rural  village  or  in  vast  London, 

—  or,  surely,  in  Germany,  in  France,  in  pleasant  Italy, 

—  thou  wouldst  be  beyond  his  power  and  knowledge  ! 
And  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  all  these  iron  men,  and 
their  opinions  ?    They  have  kept  thy  better  part  in  bond- 
age too  long  already ! " 

"  It  cannot  be ! "  answered  the  minister,  listening  as 
if  he  were  called  upon  to  realize  a  dream.  "  I  am  pow- 
erless to  go !  Wretched  and  sinful  as  I  am,  I  have  had 
no  other  thought  than  to  drag  on  my  earthly  existence  in 
the  sphere  where  Providence  hath  placed  me.  Lost  as 
my  own  soul  is,  I  would  still  do  what  I  may  for  other 
human  souls !  I  dare  not  quit  my  post,  though  an  unfaith- 
ful sentinel,  whose  sure  reward  is  death  and  dishonor, 
when  his  dreary  watch  shall  come  to  an  end  ! " 

"  Thou  art  crushed  under  this  seven  years'  weight  of 
misery,"  replied  Hester,  fervently  resolved  to  buoy  him 
up  with  her  own  energy.  "  But  thou  shalt  leave  it  all 
behind  thee !  It  shall  not  cumber  thy  steps,  as  thou 
treadest  along  the  forest-path ;  neither  shalt  thou  freight 
the  ship  with  it,  if  thou  prefer  to  cross  the  sea.  Leave 
this  wreck  and  ruin  here  where  it  hath  happened.  Med- 
dle no  more  with  it !  Begin  all  anew  !  Hast  thou  ex- 
hausted possibility  in  the  failure  of  this  one  trial  ?  Not 
so  !  The  future  is  yet  full  of  trial  and  success.  There 
is  happiness  to  be  enjoyed  !  There  is  good  to  be  done  ! 
Exchange  this  false  life  of  thine  for  a  true  one.  Be,  if 
thy  spirit  summon  thee  to  such  a  mission,  the  teacher 
and  apostle  of  the  red  men.  Or,  —  as  is  more  thy 


232  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

nature,  —  be  a  scholar  and  a  sage  among  the  wisest  and 
the  most  renowned  of  the  cultivated  world.  Preach ! 
Write  !  Act !  Do  anything,  save  to  lie  down  and  die  ! 
Give  up  this  name  of  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  and  make 
thyself  a  nother,  and  a  high  one,  such  as  thou  canst  wear 
without  fear  or  shame.  Why  shouldst  thou  tarry  so 
much  as  one  other  day  in  the  torments  that  have  so 
gnawed  into  thy  life !  —  that  have  made  thee  feeble  to 
will  and  to  do  !  —  that  will  leave  thee  powerless  even  to 
repent !  Up,  and  away  ! " 

"  O  Hester ! "  cried  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  in  whose 
eyes  a  fitful  light,  kindled  by  her  enthusiasm,  flashed 
up  and  died  away,  "  thou  tellest  of  running  a  race  to  a 
man  whose  knees  are  tottering  beneath  him !  I  must 
die  here  !  There  is  not  the  strength  or  courage  left  me 
to  venture  into  the  wide,  strange,  difficult  world,  alone ! " 

It  was  the  last  expression  of  the  despondency  of  a 
broken  spirit.  He  lacked  energy  to  grasp  the  better  for- 
tune that  seemed  within  his  reach. 

He  repeated  the  word. 

"  Alone,  Hester  ! " 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go  alone  ! "  answered  she,  in  a  deep 
whisper. 

Then,  all  was  spoken  ! 


A   FLOOD   OF    SUNSHINE.  233 


XVIII. 

A  FLOOD  OF  SUNSHINE. 

ARTHUR  DIMMESDALE  gazed  into  Hester's  face  with  a 
look  in  which  hope  and  joy  shone  out,  indeed,  but  with 
fear  betwixt  them,  and  a  kind  of  horror  at  her  boldness, 
who  had  spoken  what  he  vaguely  hinted  at,  but  dared 
not  speak. 

But  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  mind  of  native  courage  and 
activity,  and  for  so  long  a  period  not  merely  estranged, 
but  outlawed,  from  society,  had  habituated  herself  to  such 
latitude  of  speculation  as  was  altogether  foreign  to  the 
clergyman.  She  had  wandered,  without  rule  or  guid- 
ance, in  a  moral  wilderness ;  as  vast,  as  intricate  and 
shadowy,  as  the  untamed  forest,  amid  the  gloom  of  which 
they  were  now  holding  a  colloquy  that  was  to  decide  their 
fate.  Her  intellect  and  heart  had  their  home,  as  it  were, 
in  desert  places,  where  she  roamed  as  freely  as  the  wild 
Indian  in  his  woods.  For  years  past  she  had  looked  from 
this  estranged  point  of  view  at  human  institutions,  and 
whatever  priests  or  legislators  had  established ;  criticising 
all  with  hardly  more  reverence  than  the  Indian  would  feel 
for  the  clerical  band,  the  judicial  robe,  the  pillory,  the 
gallows,  the  fireside,  or  the  church.  The  tendency  of 
her  fate  and  fortunes  had  been  to  set  her  free.  The 
scarlet  letter  was  her  passport  into  regions  where  other 
women  dared  not  tread.  Shame,  Despair,  Solitude  J 
These  had  been  her  teachers,  —  stern  and  wild  ones,  — 


234  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  they  had  made  her  strong,  but  taught  her  much 
amiss. 

The  minister,  on  the  other  hand,  had  never  gone 
through  an  experience  calculated  to  lead  him  beyond  the 
scope  of  generally  received  laws ;  although,  in  a  single 
instance,  he  had  so  fearfully  transgressed  one  of  the  most 
sacred  of  them.  But  this  had  been  a  sin  of  passion,  not 
of  principle,  nor  even  purpose.  Since  that  wretched 
epoch,  he  had  watched,  with  morbid  zeal  and  minuteness, 
not  his  acts,  —  for  those  it  was  easy  to  arrange, — 
but  each  breath  of  emotion,  and  his  every  thought.  At 
the  head  of  the  social  system,  as  the  clergymen  of  that 
day  stood,  he  was  only  the  more  trammelled  by  its  regu- 
lations, its  principles  and  even  its  prejudices.  As  a 
priest,  the  framework  of  his  order  inevitably  hemmed  him 
in.  As  a  man  who  had  once  sinned,  but  who  kept  his 
conscience  all  alive  and  painfully  sensitive  by  the  fretting 
of  an  unhealed  wound,  he  might  have  been  supposed 
safer  within  the  line  of  virtue  than  if  he  had  never 
sinned  at  all. 

Thus,  we  seem  to  see  that,  as  regarded  Hester  Prynne, 
the  whole  seven  years  of  outlaw  and  ignominy  had  been 
little  other  than  a  preparation  for  this  very  hour.  But 
Arthur  Dimmesdale !  Were  such  a  man  once  more  to 
fall,  what  plea  could  be  urged  in  extenuation  of  his  crime  ? 
None  ;  unless  it  avail  him  somewhat,  that  he  was  broken 
down  by  long  and  exquisite  suffering ;  that  his  mind  was 
darkened  and  confused  by  the  very  remorse  which  har- 
rowed it;  that,  between  fleeing  as  an  avowed  criminal, 
and  remaining  as  a  hypocrite,  conscience  might  find  it 
hard  to  strike  the  balance ;  that  it  was  human  to  avoid 
the  peril  of  death  and  infamy,  and  the  inscrutable  machi- 


A   FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  235 

nations  of  an  enemy ;  that,  finally,  to  this  poor  pilgrim, 
on  his  dreary  and  desert  path,  faint,  sick,  miserable,  there 
appeared  a  glimpse  of  human  affection  and  sympathy,  a 
new  life,  and  a  true  one,  in  exchange  for  the  heavy  doom 
which  he  was  now  expiating.  And  be  the  stern  and  sad 
truth  spoken,  that  the  breach  which  guilt  has  once  made 
into  the  human  soul  is  never,  in  this  mortal  state,  repaired. 
It  may  be  watched  and  guarded;  so  that  the  enemy 
shall  not  force  his  way  again  into  the  citadel,  and  might 
even,  in  his  subsequent  assaults,  select  some  other  avenue, 
in  preference  to  that  where  he  had  formerly  succeeded. 
But  there  is  still  the  ruined  wall,  and,  near  it,  the  stealthy 
tread  of  the  foe  that  would  win  over  again  his  unforgot- 
ten  triumph. 

The  struggle,  if  there  were  one,  need  not  be  described. 
Let  it  suffice,  that  the  clergyman  resolved  to  flee,  and  not 
alone. 

"  If,  in  all  these  past  seven  years,"  thought  he,  "  I 
could  recall  one  instant  of  peace  or  hope,  I  would  yet 
endure,  for  the  sake  of  that  earnest  of  Heaven's  mercy. 
But  now,  —  since  I  am  irrevocably  doomed, — wherefore 
should  I  not  snatch  the  solace  allowed  to  the  condemned 
culprit  before  his  execution  ?  Or,  if  this  be  the  path  to 
a  better  life,  as  Hester  would  persuade  me,  I  surely  give 
up  no  fairer  prospect  by  pursuing  it!  Neither  can  I 
any  longer  live  without  her  companionship  ;  so  powerful 
is  she  to  sustain, —  so  tender  to  soothe!  O  Thou  to 
whom  I  dare  not  lift  mine  eyes,  wilt  Thou  yet  pardon 
me!" 

"  Thou  wilt  go  !  "  said  Hester,  calmly,  as  he  met  her 
glance. 

The  decision  once  made,  a  glow  of  strange  enjoyment 


236  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

threw  its  flickering  brightness  over  the  trouble  of  his 
breast.  It  was  the  exhilarating  effect  —  upon  a  prisoner 
just  escaped  from  the  dungeon  of  his  own  heart — of 
breathing  the  wild,  free  atmosphere  of  an  unredeemed, 
unchristianized,  lawless  region.  His  spirit  rose,  as  it 
were,  with  a  bound,  and  attained  a  nearer  prospect  of 
the  sky,  than  throughout  all  the  misery  which  had  kept 
him  grovelling  on  the  earth.  Of  a  deeply  religious 
temperament,  there  was  inevitably  a  tinge  of  the  devo- 
tional in  his  mood. 

"  Do  I  feel  joy  again  ?  "  cried  he,  wondering  at  him- 
self. "  Methought  the  germ  of  it  was  dead  in  me  !  O 
Hester,  thou  art  my  better  angel !  I  seem  to  have  flung 
myself —  sick,  sin-stained,  and  sorrow-blackened  —  down 
upon  these  forest-leaves,  and  to  have  risen  up  all  made 
anew,  and  with  new  powers  to  glorify  Him  that  hath  been 
merciful !  This  i?  already  the  better  life !  Why  did  we 
not  find  it  sooner  1 " 

"  Let  us  not  look  back,"  answered  Hester  Prynne. 
"  The  past  is  gone !  Wherefore  should  we  linger  upon 
it  now  ?  See !  With  this  symbol,  I  undo  it  all,  and 
make  it  as  it  had  never  been !  " 

So  speaking,  she  undid  the  clasp  that  fastened  the  scar- 
let letter,  and,  taking  it  from  her  bosom,  threw  it  to  a  dis- 
tance among  the  withered  leaves.  The  mystic  token 
alighted  on  the  hither  verge  of  the  stream.  With  a 
hand's  breadth  further  flight  it  would  have  fallen  into  the 
water,  and  have  given  the  little  brook  another  woe  to 
carry  onward,  besides  the  unintelligible  tale  which  it  still 
kept  murmuring  about.  But  there  lay  the  embroidered 
letter,  glittering  like  a  lost  jewel,  which  some  ill-fated 
wanderer  might  pick  up,  and  thenceforth  be  haunted  by 


A   FLOOD   OF    SUNSHINE.  237 

strange  phantoms  of  guilt,  sinkings  of  the  heart,  and 
unaccountable  misfortune. 

The  stigma  gone,  Hester  heaved  a  long,  deep  sigh,  in 
which  the  burden  of  shame  and  anguish  departed  from 
her  spirit,  O  exquisite  relief!  She  had  not  known  the 
weight,  until  she  felt  the  freedom !  By  another  impulse, 
she  took  off  the  formal  cap  that  confined  her  hair ;  and 
down  it  fell  upon  her  shoulders,  dark  and  rich,  with  at 
once  a  shadow  and  a  light  in  its  abundance,  and  impart- 
ing the  charm  of  softness  to  her  features.  There  played 
around  her  mouth,  and  beamed  out  of  her  eyes,  a  radiant 
and  tender  smile,  that  seemed  gushing  from  the  very 
heart  of  womanhood.  A  crimson  flush  was  glowing  on 
her  cheek,  that  had  been  long  so  pale.  Her  sex,  her 
youth,  and  the  whole  richness  of  her  beauty,  came  back 
from  what  men  call  the  irrevocable  past,  and  clustered 
themselves,  with  her  maiden  hope,  and  a  happiness  before 
unknown,  within  the  magic  circle  of  this  hour.  And,  as 
if  the  gloom  of  the  earth  and  sky  had  been  but  the  efflu- 
ence of  these  two  mortal  hearts,  it  vanished  with  their 
sorrow.  All  at  once,  as  with  a  sudden  smile  of  heaven, 
forth  burst  the  sunshine,  pouring  a  very  flood  into  the 
obscure  forest,  gladdening  each  green  leaf,  transmuting 
the  yellow  fallen  ones  to  gold,  and  gleaming  adown  the 
gray  trunks  of  the  solemn  trees.  The  objects  that  had 
made  a  shadow  hitherto,  embodied  the  brightness  now. 
The  course  of  the  little  brook  might  be  traced  by  its 
merry  gleam  afar  into  the  wood's  heart  of  mystery,  which 
had  become  a  mystery  of  joy. 

Such  was  the  sympathy  of  Nature  — that  wild,  heathen 
Nature  of  the  forest,  never  subjugated  by  human  law, 
nor  illumined  by  higher  truth  —  with  the  bliss  of  these  two 


238  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

spirits !  Love,  whether  newly  born,  or  aroused  from  a 
death-like  slumber,  must  always  create  a  sunshine,  filling 
the  heart  so  full  of  radiance,  that  it  overflows  upon  the 
outward  world.  Had  the  forest  still  kept  its  gloom,  it 
would  have  been  bright  in  Hester's  eyes,  and  bright  in 
Arthur  Dimmesdale's  ! 

Hester  looked  at  him  with  the  thrill  of  another  joy. 

"  Thou  must  know  Pearl !  "  said  she.  "  Our  little 
Pearl !  Thou  hast  seen  her,  —  yes,  I  know  it !  —  but 
thou  wilt  see  her  now  with  other  eyes.  She  is  a  strange 
child  !  I  hardly  comprehend  her !  But  thou  wilt  love 
her  dearly,  as  I  do,  and  wilt  advise  me  how  to  deal  with 
her." 

"  Dost  thou  think  the  child  will  be  glad  to  know  me  ? " 
asked  the  minister,  somewhat  uneasily.  "  I  have  long 
shrunk  from  children,  because  they  often  show  a  distrust, 
—  a  backwardness  to  be  familiar  with  me.  I  have  even 
been  afraid  of  little  Pearl! " 

"  Ah,  that  was  sad !  "  answered  the  mother.  "  But 
she  will  love  thee  dearly,  and  thou  her.  She  is  not  far 
off.  I  will  call  her!  Pearl!  Pearl!" 

"  I  see  the  child,"  observed  the  minister.  "  Yonder  she 
is,  standing  in  a  streak  of  sunshine,  a  good  way  off,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook.  So  thou  thinkest  the  child  will 
love  me  ?  " 

Hester  smiled,  and  again  called  to  Pearl,  who  was 
visible,  at  some  distance,  as  the  minister  had  described 
her,  like  a  bright-apparelled  vision,  in  a  sunbeam,  which 
fell  down  upon  her  through  an  arch  of  boughs.  The  ray 
quivered  to  and  fro,  making  her  figure  dim  or  distinct,  — 
now  like  a  real  child,  now  like  a  child's  spirit, — as  the 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  239 

splendor  went  and  came  again.     She  heard  her  mother's 
voice,  and  approached  slowly  through  the  forest. 

Pearl  had  not  found  the  hour  pass  wearisomely,  while 
her  mother  sat  talking  with  the  clergyman.  The  great 
black  forest  —  stern  as  it  showed  itself  to  those  who 
brought  the  guilt  and  troubles  of  the  world  into  its 
bosom  —  became  the  playmate  of  the  lonely  infant,  as 
well  as  it  knew  how.  Sombre  as  it  was,  it  put  on  the 
kindest  of  its  moods  to  welcome  her.  It  offered  her  the 
partridge-berries,  the  growth  of  the  preceding  autumn, 
but  ripening  only  in  the  spring,  and  now  red  as  drops 
of  blood  upon  the  withered  leaves.  These  Pearl  gath- 
ered, and  was  pleased  with  their  wild  flavor.  The 
small  denizens  of  the  wilderness  hardly  took  pains  to 
move  out  of  her  path.  A  partridge,  indeed,  with  a 
brood  of  ten  behind  her,  ran  forward  threateningly,  but 
soon  repented  of  her  fierceness,  and  clucked  to  her 
young  ones  not  to  be  afraid.  A  pigeon,  alone  on  a  low 
branch,  allowed  Pearl  to  come  beneath,  and  uttered  a 
sound  as  much  of  greeting  as  alarm.  A  squirrel,  from 
the  lofty  depths  of  his  domestic  tree,  chattered  either  in 
anger  or  merriment,  —  for  a  squirrel  is  such  a  choleric 
and  humorous  little  personage,  that  it  is  hard  to  distin- 
guish between  his  moods, — so  he  chattered  at  the  child, 
and  flung  down  a  nut  upon  her  head.  It  was  a  last 
year's  nut,  and  already  gnawed  by  his  sharp  tooth.  A 
fox,  startled  from  his  sleep  by  her  light  footstep  on 
the  leaves,  looked  inquisitively  at  Pearl,  as  doubting 
whether  it  were  better  to  steal  ofT,  or  renew  his  nap  on 
the  same  spot.  A  wolf,  it  is  said, — but  here  the  tale 
das  surely  lapsed  into  the  improbable,  —  came  up,  and 
smelt  of  Pearl's  robe,  and  offered  his  savage  head  to 


240  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

be  patted  by  her  hand.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  how- 
ever, that  the  mother-forest,  and  these  wild  things  which 
it  nourished,  all  recognized  a  kindred  wildness  in  the 
human  child. 

And  she  was  gentler  here  than  in  the  grassy-margined 
streets  of  the  settlement,  or  in  her  mother's  cottage. 
The  flowers  appeared  to  know  it ;  and  one  and  another 
whispered  as  she  passed,  "  Adorn  thyself  with  me,  thou 
beautiful  child,  adorn  thyself  with  me ! "  —  and,  to 
please  them,  Pearl  gathered  the  violets,  and  anemones, 
and  columbines,  and  some  twigs  of  the  freshest  green, 
which  the  old  trees  held  down  before  her  eyes.  With 
these  she  decorated  her  hair,  and  her  young  waist,  and 
became  a  nym^h-child,  or  an  infant  dryad,  or  whatever 
else  was  in  closest  sympathy  with  the  antique  wood.  In 
such  guise  ha  i  Pearl  adorned  herself,  when  she  heard 
her  mother's  v  nee,  and  came  slowly  back. 

Slowly ;  foi  die  saw  the  clergyman ! 


THE    CHILD   AT   THE    BROOK-SIDE.  241 


XIX. 

THE  CHILD  AT  THE  BROOK-SIDE. 

"Tnou  wilt  love  her  dearly,"  repeated  Hester  Prynne, 
as  she  and  the  minister  sat  watching  little  Pearl.  "  Dost 
thou  not  think  her  beautiful  ?  And  see  with  what 
natural  skill  she  has  made  those  simple  flowers  adorn 
her!  Had  she  gathered  pearls,  and  diamonds,  and 
rubies,  in  the  wood,  they  could  not  have  become  her 
better.  She  is  a  splendid  child !  But  I  know  whose 
brow  she  has  ! " 

"  Dost  thou  know,  Hester,"  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale, 
with  an  unquiet  smile,  "  that  this  dear  child,  tripping 
about  always  at  thy  side,  hath  caused  me  many  an 
alarm  ?  Methought  —  O  Hester,  what  a  thought  is 
that,  and  how  terrible  to  dread  it !  —  that  my  own 
features  were  partly  repeated  in  her  face,  and  so  strik- 
ingly that  the  world  might  see  them!  But  she  is 
mostly  thine ! " 

"  No,  no !  Not  mostly ! "  answered  the  mother,  with  a 
tender  smile.  "  A  little  longer,  and  thou  needest  not  to 
be  afraid  to  trace  whose  child  she  is.  But  how  strangely 
beautiful  she  looks,  with  those  wild  flowers  in  her  hair ! 
It  is  as  if  one  of  the  fairies,  whom  we  left  in  our  dear 
old  England,  had  decked  her  out  to  meet  us." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  which  neither  of  them  had  ever 

before  experienced,  that  they  sat  and  watched  Pearl's 

slow  advance.     In  her  was  visible  the  tie  that  united 

them.     She  had  been  offered  to  the  world,  these  seven 

16 


242  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

years  past,  as  the  living  hieroglyphic,  in  which  was 
revealed  the  secret  they  so  darkly  sought  to  hide,  —  all 
written  in  this  symbol,  —  all  plainly  manifest,  —  had 
there  been  a  prophet  or  magician  skilled  to  read  the 
character  of  flame !  And  Pearl  was  the  oneness  of  their 
being.  Be  the  foregone  evil  what  it  might,  how  could 
they  doubt  that  their  earthly  lives  and  future  destinies 
were  conjoined,  when  they  beheld  at  once  the  material 
union,  and  the  spiritual  idea,  in  whom  they  met,  and 
were  to  dwell  immortally  together?  Thoughts  like 
these  —  and  perhaps  other  thoughts,  which  they  did  not 
acknowledge  or  define — threw  an  awe  about  the  child, 
as  she  came  onward. 

"  Let  her  see  nothing  strange  —  no  passion  nor  eager- 
ness—  in  thy  way  of  accosting  her,"  whispered  Hester. 
"  Our  Pearl  is  a  fitful  and  fantastic  little  elf,  sometimes. 
Especially,  she  is  seldom  tolerant  of  emotion,  when  she 
does  not  fully  comprehend  the  why  and  wherefore.  But 
the  child  hath  strong  affections !  She  loves  me,  and  will 
love  thee ! " 

"  Thou  canst  not  think,"  said  the  minister,  glancing 
aside  at  Hester  Prynne,  "  how  my  heart  dreads  this  in- 
terview, and  yearns  for  it !  But,  in  truth,  as  I  already 
told  thee,  children  are  not  readily  won  to  be  familiar 
with  me.  They  will  not  climb  my  knee,  nor  prattle  in 
my  ear,  nor  answer  to  my  smile;  but  stand  apart,  and 
eye  me  strangely.  Even  little  babes,  when  I  take  them 
in  my  arms,  weep  bitterly.  Yet  Pearl,  twice  in  her 
little  lifetime,  hath  been  kind  to  me  !  The  first  time,  — 
thou  knowest  it  well !  The  last  was  when  thou  ledst 
her  with  thee  to  the  house  of  yonder  stern  old  Gov- 
ernor." 


THE    CHILD    AT    THE    BROOK-SIDE.  243 

4  And  thou  didst  plead  so  bravely  in  her  behalf  and 
mine  ! "  answered  the  mother.  "  I  remember  it ;  and*  so 
shall  little  Pearl.  Fear  nothing !  She  may  be  strange 
and  shy  at  first,  but  will  soon  learn  to  love  thee ! " 

By  this  time  Pearl  had  reached  .the  margin  of  the 
brook,  and  stood  on  the  further  side,  gazing  silently  at 
Hester  and  the  clergyman,  who  still  sat  together  on  the 
mossy  tree-trunk,  waiting  to  receive  her.  Just  where 
she  had  paused,  the  brook  chanced  to  form  a  pool,  so 
smooth  and  quiet  that  it  reflected  a  perfect  image  of  her 
little  figure,  with  all  the  brilliant  picturesqueness  of  her 
beauty,  in  its  adornment  of  flowers  and  wreathed  foliage, 
but  more  refined  and  spiritualized  than  the  reality. 
This  image,  so  nearly  identical  with  the  living  Pearl, 
seemed  to  communicate  somewhat  of  its  own  shadowy 
and  intangible  quality  to  the  child  herself.  It  was 
strange,  the  wray  in  which  Pearl  stood,  looking  so  stead- 
fastly at  them  through  the  dim  medium  of  the  forest- 
gloom  ;  herself,  meanwhile,  all  glorified  with  a  ray  of 
sunshine,  that  was  attracted  thitherward  as  by  a  certain 
sympathy.  In  the  brook  beneath  stood  another  child,  — 
another  and  the  same,  —  with  likewise  its  ray  of  golden 
light.  Hester  felt  herself,  in  some  indistinct  and  tanta- 
lizing manner,  estranged  from  Pearl ;  as  if  the  child,  in 
her  lonely  ramble  through  the  forest,  had  strayed  out  of 
the  sphere  in  which  she  and  her  mother  dwelt  together, 
and  was  now  vainly  seeking  to  return  to  it. 

There  was  both  truth  and  error  in  the  impression ;  the 
child  and  mother  were  estranged,  but  through  Hester's 
fault,  not  Pearl's.  Since  the  latter  rambled  from  her 
side,  another  inmate  had  been  admitted  within  the  circle 
of  the  mother's  feelings,  and  so  modified  the  aspect  of 


C<244  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

them  all,  that  Pearl,  the  returning  wanderer,  could  not 
find  her  wonted  place,  and  hardly  knew  where  she  was. 

"  I  have  a  strange  fancy,"  observed  the  sensitive  min- 
ister, "  that  this  brook  is  the  boundary  between  two 
worlds,  and  that  thou  canst  never  meet  thy  Pearl  again. 
Or  is  she  an  elfish  spirit,  who,  as  the  legends  of  our 
childhood  taught  us,  is  forbidden  to  cross  a  running 
stream  ?  Pray  hasten  her ;  for  this  delay  has  already 
imparted  a  tremor  to  my  nerves." 

"  Come,  dearest  child!"  said  Hester,  encouragingly, 
and  stretching  out  both  her  arms.  "How  slow  thou 
art !  When  hast  thou  been  so  sluggish  before  now  ? 
Here  is  a  friend  of  mine,  who  must  be  thy  friend  also. 
Thou  wilt  have  twice  as  much  love,  henceforward,  as 
thy  mother  alone  could  give  thee !  Leap  across  the 
brook,  and  come  to  us.  Thou  canst  leap  like  a  young 
deer ! " 

Pearl,  without  responding  in  any  manner  to  these 
honey-sweet  expressions,  remained  on  the  other  side  of 
the  brook.  Now  she  fixed  her  bright,  wild  eyes  on  her 
mother,  now  on  the  minister,  and  now  included  them 
both  in  the  same  glance ;  as  if  to  detect  and  explain  to 
herself  the  relation  which  they  bore  to  one  another. 
For  some  unaccountable  reason,  as  Arthur  Dimmesdale 
felt  the  child's  eyes  upon  himself,  his  hand  —  with  that 
gesture  so  habitual  as  to  have  become  involuntary  — 
stole  over  his  heart.  At  length,  assuming  a  singular 
air  of  authority,  Pearl  stretched  out  her  hand,  with 
the  small  forefinger  extended,  and  pointing  evidently 
towards  her  mother's  breast.  And  beneath,  in  the  mir- 
ror of  the  brook,  there  was  the  flower-girdled  and  sunny 
image  of  little  Pearl,  pointing  her  small  forefinger  too. 


THE    CHILD   AT    THE    BROOK-SIDE.  245 

"  Thou  strange  child,  why  dost  thou  not  come  to 
me  ? "  exclaimed  Hester. 

Pearl  still  pointed  with  her  forefinger ;  and  a  frown 
gathered  on  her  brow;  the  more  impressive  from  the 
childish,  the  almost  baby-like  aspect  of  the  features  that 
conveyed  it.  As  her  mother  still  kept  beckoning  to  her, 
and  arraying  her  face  in  a  holiday  suit  of  unaccustomed 
smiles,  the  child  stamped  her  foot  with  a  yet  more  impe- 
rious look  and  gesture.  In  the  brook,  again,  was  the 
fantastic  beauty  of  the  image,  with  its  reflected  frown,  its 
pointed  finger,  and  imperious  gesture,  giving  emphasis 
to  the  aspect  of  little  Pearl. 

"Hasten,  Pearl;  or  I  shall  be  angry  with  thee!" 
cried  Hester  Prynne,  who,  however  inured  to  such 
behavior  on  the  elf-child's  part  at  other  seasons,  was 
naturally  anxious  for  a  more  seemly  deportment  now. 
"  Leap  across  the  brook,  naughty  child,  and  run  hither  ! 
Else  I  must  come  to  thee  ! " 

But  Pearl,  not  a  whit  startled  at  her  mother's  threats, 
any  more  than  mollified  by  her  entreaties,  now  suddenly 
burst  into  a  fit  of  passion,  gesticulating  violently,  and 
throwing  her  small  figure  into  the  most  extravagant  con- 
tortions. She  accompanied  this  wild  outbreak  with  pierc- 
ing shrieks,  which  the  woods  reverberated  on  all  sides ; 
so  that,  alone  as  she  was  in  her  childish  and  unreasona- 
ble wrath,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hidden  multitude  were  lend- 
ing her  their  sympathy  and  encouragement.  Seen  in 
the  brook,  once  more,  was  the  shadowy  wrath  of  Pearl's 
image,  crowned  and  girdled  with  flowers,  but  stamping 
its  foot,  wildly  gesticulating,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all, 
still  pointing  its  small  forefinger  at  Hester's  bosom! 

"  I  see  what  ails  the  child,"  whispered  Hester  to  th& 


246  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

clergyman,  and  turning  pale  in  spite  of  a  strong  effort 
to  conceal  her  trouble  and  annoyance.  "  Children  will 
not  abide  any,  the  slightest,  change  in  the  accustomed 
aspect  of  things  that  are  daily  before  their  eyes.  Pearl 
misses  something  which  she  has  always  seen  me  wear !  " 

"  I  pray  you,"  answered  the  minister,  "  if  thou  hast 
any  means  of  pacifying  the  child,  do  it  forthwith  !  Save 
it  were  the  cankered  wrath  of  an  old  witch,  like  Mistress 
Hibbins,"  added  he,  attempting  to  smile,  "  I  know  noth- 
ing that  I  would  not  sooner  encounter  than  this  passion 
in  a  child.  In  Pearl's  young  beauty,  as  in  the  wrinkled 
witch,  it  has  a  preternatural  effect.  Pacify  her,  if  thou 
lovest  me ! " 

Hester  turned  again  towards  Pearl,  with  a  crimson 
blush  upon  her  cheek,  a  conscious  glance  aside  at  the 
clergyman,  and  then  a  heavy  sigh ;  while,  even  before 
she  had  time  to  speak,  the  blush  yielded  to  a  deadly 
pallor. 

"  Pearl,"  said  she,  sadly,  "  look  down  at  thy  feet ! 
There  !  —  before  thee  !  —  on  the  hither  side  of  the 
brook !  " 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  to  the  point  indicated ;  and 
there  lay  the  scarlet  letter,  so  close  upon  the  margin  of 
the  stream,  that  the  gold  embroidery  was  reflected  in  it. 

"  Bring  it  hither  !  "  said  Hester. 

"  Come  thou  and  take  it  up  !  "  answered  Pearl. 

"  Was  ever  such  a  child !  "  observed  Hester,  aside  to 
the  minister.  "  O,  I  have  much  to  tell  thee  about  her ! 
But,  in  very  truth,  she  is  right  as  regards  this  hateful 
token.  I  must  bear  its  torture  yet  a  little  longer,  — 
only  a  few  days  longer,  —  until  we  shall  have  left  this 
region,  and  look  back  hither  as  to  a  land  which  we  have 


THE    CHILD   AT   THE    BROOK-SIDE.  24T 

dreamed  of.  The  forest  cannot  hide  it !  The  mid-ocean 
shall  take  it  from  my  hand,  and  swallow  it  up  forever  !  " 

With  these  words,  she  advanced  to  the  margin  of  the 
brook,  took  up  the  scarlet  letter,  and  fastened  it  again 
into  her  bosom.  Hopefully,  but  a  moment  ago,  as 
Hester  had  spoken  of  drowning  it  in  the  deep  sea,  there 
was  a  sense  of  inevitable  doom  upon  her,  as  she  thus 
received  back  this  deadly  symbol  from  the  hand  of  fate. 
She  had  flung  it  into  infinite  space  !  —  she  had  drawn 
an  hour's  free  breath  !  —  and  here  again  was  the  scarlet 
misery,  glittering  on  the  old  spot !  So  it  ever  is,  whether 
thus  typified  or  no,  that  an  evil  deed  invests  itself  with 
the  character  of  doom.  Hester  next  gathered  up  the 
heavy  tresses  of  her  hair,  and  confined  them  beneath  her 
cap.  As  if  there  were  a  withering  spell  in  the  sad  let- 
ter, her  beauty,  the  warmth  and  richness  of  her  woman- 
hood, departed,  like  fading  sunshine;  and  a  gray  shadow 
seemed  to  fall  across  her. 

When  the  dreary  change  was  wrought,  she  extended 
her  hand  to  Pearl. 

"  Dost  thou  know  thy  mother  now,  child  ? "  asked 
she,  reproachfully,  but  with  a  subdued  tone.  "Wilt 
thou  come  across  the  brook,  and  own  thy  mother,  now 
that  she  has  her  shame  upon  her,  —  now  that  she  is 
sad?" 

"  Yes  ;  now  I  will !  "  answered  the  child,  bounding 
across  the  brook,  and  clasping  Hester  in  her  arms. 
"  Now  thou  art  my  mother  indeed !  And  I  am  thy 
little  Pearl ! " 

In  a  mood  of  tenderness  that  was  not  usual  with  her, 
she  drew  down  her  mother's  head,  and  kissed  her  brow 
and  both  her  cheeks.  But  then  —  by  a  kind  of  neces- 


248  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

sity  that  always  impelled  this  child  to  alloy  whatever 
comfort  she  might  chance  to  give  with  a  throb  of  an- 
guish—  Pearl  put  up  her  mouth,  and  kissed  the  scarlet 
letter  too  ! 

"  That  was  not  kind  !  "  said  Hester.  "  When  thou 
hast  shown  me  a  little  love,  thou  mockest  me ! " 

"  "Why  doth  the  minister  sit  yonder  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 

"  He  waits  to  welcome  thee,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  Come  thou,  and  entreat  his  blessing !  He  loves  thee, 
my  little  Pearl,  and  loves  thy  mother  too.  Wilt  thou 
not  love  him  ?  Come  !  he  longs  to  greet  thee  ! " 

"  Doth  he  love  us  ? "  said  Pearl,  looking  up,  with 
acute  intelligence,  into  her  mother's  face.  "  Will  he  go 
back  with  us,  hand  in  hand,  we  three  together,  into  the 
town  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  dear  child,"  answered  Hester.  "  But  in 
days  to  come  he  will  walk  hand  in  hand  with  us.  We 
will  have  a  home  and  fireside  of  our  own ;  and  thou 
shalt  sit  upon  his  knee  ;  and  he  will  teach  thee  many 
things,  and  love  thee  dearly.  Thou  wilt  love  him ;  wilt 
thou  not  ?  " 

"  And  will  he  always  keep  his  hand  over  his  heart  ? " 
inquired  Pearl. 

"  Foolish  child,  what  a  question  is  that !  "  exclaimed 
her  mother.  "  Come  and  ask  his  blessing  !  " 

But,  whether  influenced  by  the  jealousy  that  seems 
instinctive  with  every  petted  child  towards  a  dangerous 
rival,  or  from  whatever  caprice  of  her  freakish  nature, 
Pearl  would  show  no  favor  to  the  clergyman.  It  was 
only  by  an  exertion  of  force  that  her  mother  brought 
her  up  to  him,  hanging  back,  and  manifesting  her  reluc- 
tance by  odd  grimaces ;  of  which,  ever  since  her  baby- 


TIIE    CHILD    AT    THE    BROOK-SIDE.  249 

hood,  she  had  possessed  a  singular  variety,  and  could 
transform  her  mobile  physiognomy  into  a  series  of  differ- 
ent aspects,  with  a  new  mischief  in  them,  each  and  all. 
The  minister  —  painfully  embarrassed,  but  hoping  that 
a  kiss  might  prove  a  talisman  to  admit  him  into  the 
child's  kindlier  regards  —  bent  forward,  and  impressed 
one  on  her  brow.  Hereupon,  Pearl  broke  away  from 
her  mother,  and,  running  to  the  brook,  stooped  over  it, 
and  bathed  her  forehead,  until  the  unwelcome  kiss  was 
quite  washed  off,  and  diffused  through  a  long  lapse  of 
the  gliding  water.  She  then  remained  apart,  silently 
watching  Hester  and  the  clergyman ;  while  they  talked 
together,  and  made  such  arrangements  as  were  sug- 
gested by  their  new  position,  and  the  purposes  soon  to 
be  fulfilled. 

And  now  this  fateful  interview  had  come  to  a  close. 
The  dell  was  to  be  left  a  solitude  among  its  dark,  old 
trees,  which,  with  their  multitudinous  tongues,  would 
whisper  long  of  what  had  passed  there,  and  no  mortal 
be  the  wiser.  And  the  melancholy  brook  would  add  this 
other  tale  to  the  mystery  with  which  its  little  heart  was 
already  overburdened,  and  whereof  it  still  kept  up  a  mur- 
muring babble,  with  not  a  whit  more  cheerfulness  of  tone 
than  for  ages  heretofore. 


250  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XX. 

THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE. 

As  the  minister  departed,  in  advance  of  Hester  Prynne 
and  little  Pearl,  he  threw  a  backward  glance ;  half  ex- 
pecting that  he  should  discover  only  some  faintly  traced 
features  or  outline  of  the  mother  and  the  child,  slowly 
fading  into  the  twilight  of  the  woods.  So  great  a  vicis- 
situde in  his  life  could  not  at  once  be  received  as  real. 
But  there  was  Hester,  clad  in  her  gray  robe,  still  stand- 
ing beside  the  tree-trunk,  which  some  blast  had  over- 
thrown a  long  antiquity  ago,  and  which  time  had  ever 
since  been  covering  with  moss,  so  that  these  two  fated 
ones,  with  earth's  heaviest  burden  on  them,  might  there 
sit  down  together,  and  find  a  single  hour's  rest  and 
solace.  And  there  was  Pearl,  too,  lightly  dancing  from 
the  margin  of  the  brook,  —  now  that  the  intrusive  third 
person  was  gone,  —  and  taking  her  old  place  by  her 
mother's  side.  So  the  minister  had  not  fallen  asleep, 
and  dreamed ! 

In  order  to  free  his  mind  from  this  indistinctness  and 
duplicity  of  impression,  which  vexed  it  with  a  strange 
disquietude,  he  recalled  and  more  thoroughly  defined 
the  plans  which  Hester  and  himself  had  sketched  for 
their  departure.  It  had  been  determined  between  them, 
that  the  Old  World,  with  its  crowds  and  cities,  offered 
them  a  more  eligible  shelter  and  concealment  than  the 
wilds  of  New  England,  or  all  America,  with  its  alter- 
natives of  an  Indian  wigwam,  or  the  few  settlements  of 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  251 

Europeans,  scattered  thinly  along  the  seaboard.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  clergyman's  health,  so  inadequate  to  sus- 
tain the  hardships  of  a  forest  life,  his  native  gifts,  his 
culture,  and  his  entire  development,  would  secure  him  a 
home  only  in  the  midst  of  civilization  and  refinement ; 
the  higher  the  state,  the  more  delicately  adapted  to  it 
the  man.  In  furtherance  of  this  choice,  it  so  happened 
that  a  ship  lay  in  the  harbor  ;  one  of  those  questionable 
cruisers,  frequent  at  that  day,  which,  without  being  ab- 
solutely outlaws  of  the  deep,  yet  roamed  over  its  surface 
with  a  remarkable  irresponsibility  of  character.  This 
vessel  had  recently  arrived  from  the  Spanish  Main,  and, 
within  three  days'  time,  would  sail  for  Bristol.  Hester 
Prynne  —  whose  vocation,  as  a  self-enlisted  Sister  of 
Charity,  had  brought  her  acquainted  with  the  captain 
and  crew  —  could  take  upon  herself  to  secure  the  pas- 
sage of  two  individuals  and  a  child,  with  all  the  secrecy 
which  circumstances  rendered  more  than  desirable. 

The  minister  had  inquired  of  Hester,  with  no  little 
interest,  the  precise  time  at  which  the  vessel  might  be 
expected  to  depart.  It  would  probably  be  on  the  fourth 
day  from  the  present.  "  That  is  most  fortunate  ! "  he 
had  then  said  to  himself.  Now,  why  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  considered  it  so  very  fortunate,  we  hesitate 
to  reveal.  Nevertheless,  —  to  hold  nothing  back  from 
the  reader,  —  it  was  because,  on  the  third  day  from  the 
present,  he  was  to  preach  the  Election  Sermon ;  and,  as 
such  an  occasion  formed  an  honorable  epoch  in  the  life 
of  a  New  England  clergyman,  he  could  not  have  chanced 
upon  a  more  suitable  mode  and  time  of  terminating  his 
professional  career.  "  At  least,  they  shall  say  of  me," 
thought  this  exemplary  man,  "  that  I  leave  no  public 


252  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

duty  unperformed,  nor  ill  performed  ! "  Sad,  indeed, 
that  an  introspection  so  profound  and  acute  as  this  poor 
minister's  should  be  so  miserably  deceived  !  We  have 
had,  and  may  still  have,  worse  things  to  tell  of  him;  but 
none,  we  apprehend,  so  pitiably  weak;  no  evidence,  at 
once  so  slight  and  irrefragable,  of  a  subtle  disease,  that 
had  long  since  begun  to  eat  into  the  real  substance  of 
his  character.  No  man,  for  any  considerable  period,  can 
wear  one  face  to  himself,  and  another  to  the  multitude, 
without  finally  getting  bewildered  as  to  which  may  be 
the  true. 

The  excitement  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  feelings,  as  he 
returned  from  his  interview  with  Hester,  lent  him  unac- 
customed physical  energy,  and  hurried  him  townward  at 
a  rapid  pace.  The  pathway  among  the  woods  seemed 
wilder,  more  uncouth  with  its  rude  natural  obstacles,  and 
less  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  than  he  remembered  it 
on  his  outward  journey.  But  he  leaped  across  the  plashy 
places,  thrust  himself  through  the  clinging  underbrush, 
climbed  the  ascent,  plunged  into  the  hollow,  and  over- 
came, in  short,  all  the  difficulties  of  the  track,  with  an 
unweariable  activity  that  astonished  him.  He  could  not 
but  recall  how  feebly,  and  with  what  frequent  pauses  for 
breath,  he  had  toiled  over  the  same  ground,  only  two 
days  before.  As  he  drew  near  the  town,  he  took  an 
impression  of  change  from  the  series  of  familiar  objects 
that  presented  themselves.  It  seemed  not  yesterday,  not 
one,  nor  two,  but  many  days,  or  even  years  ago,  since 
he  had  quitted  them.  There,  indeed,  was  each  former 
trace  of  the  street,  as  he  remembered  it,  and  all  the  pecu- 
liarities of  the  houses,  with  the  due  multitude  of  gable- 
peaks,  and  a  weather-cock  at  every  point  where  his 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A   MAZE.  253 

memory  suggested  one.  Not  the  less,  however,  came 
this  importunately  obtrusive  sense  of  change.  The  same 
was  true  as  regarded  the  acquaintances  whom  he  met, 
and  all  the  well-known  shapes  of  human  life,  about  the 
little  town.  They  looked  neither  older  nor  younger 
now ;  the  beards  of  the  aged  were  no  whiter,  nor  could 
the  creeping  babe  of  yesterday  walk  on  his  feet  to-day  ; 
it  was  impossible  to  describe  in  what  respect  they  differed 
from  the  individuals  on  whom  he  had  so  recently  be- 
stowed a  parting  glance ;  and  yet  the  minister's  deepest 
sense  seemed  to  inform  him  of  their  mutability.  A  sim- 
ilar impression  struck  him  most  remarkably,  as  he  passed 
under  the  walls  of  his  own  church.  The  edifice  had  so 
very  strange,  and  yet  so  familiar,  an  aspect,  that  Mr. 
l)immesdale's  mind  vibrated  between  two  ideas ;  either 
that  he  had  seen  it  only  in  a  dream  hitherto,  or  that  he 
was  merely  dreaming  about  it  now. 

This  phenomenon,  in  the  various  shapes  which  it  as- 
sumed, indicated  no  external  change,  but  so  sudden  and 
important  a  change  in  the  spectator  of  the  familiar  scene, 
that  the  intervening  space  of  a  single  day  had  operated 
on  his  consciousness  like  the  lapse  of  years.  The  min- 
ister's own  will,  and  Hester's  will,  and  the  fate  that  grew 
between  them,  had  wrought  this  transformation.  It  was 
the  same  town  as  heretofore ;  but  the  same  minister 
returned  not  from  the  forest.  He  might  have  said  to  the 
friends  who  greeted  him,  —  "I  am  not  the  man  for  whom 
you  take  me !  I  left  him  yonder  in  the  forest,  withdrawn 
into  a  secret  dell,  by  a  mossy  tree-trunk,  and  near  a  mel- 
ancholy brook !  Go,  seek  your  minister,  and  see  if  his 
emaciated  figure,  his  thin  cheek,  his  white,  heavy,  pain- 
wrinkled  brow,  be  not  flung  down  there,  like  a  cast-off 


254 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


garment ! "  His  friends,  no  doubt,  would  still  have  in- 
sisted with  him,  —  "Thou  art  thyself  the  man!"  —  but 
the  prror  would  have  been  their  own,  not  his. 

Before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  reached  home,  his  inner  man 
gave  him  other  evidences  of  a  revolution  in  the  sphere 
of  thought  and  feeling.  In  truth,  nothing  short  of  a  total 
change  of  dynasty  and  moral  code,  in  that  interior  king- 
dom, was  adequate  to  account  for  the  impulses  now  com- 
municated to  the  unfortunate  and  startled  minister.  At 
every  step  he  was  incited  to  do  some  strange,  wild, 
wicked  thing  or  other,  with  a  sense  that  it  would  be  at 
once  involuntary  and  intentional ;  in  spite  of  himself,  yet 
growing  out  of  a  profounder  self  than  that  which  opposed 
the  impulse.  For  instance,  he  met  one  of  his  own  dea- 
cons. The  good  old  man  addressed  him  with  the  pater- 
nal affection  and  patriarchal  privilege,  which  his  venera- 
ble age,  his  upright  and  holy  character,  and  his  station 
in  the  Church,  entitled  him  to  use ;  and,  conjoined  with 
this,  the  deep,  almost  worshipping  respect,  which  the 
minister's  professional  and  private  claims  alike  demanded. 
Never  was  there  a  more  beautiful  example  of  how  the 
majesty  of  age  and  wisdom  may  comport  with  the  obei- 
sance and  respect  enjoined  upon  it,  as  from  a  lower  social 
rank,  and  inferior  order  of  endowment,  towards  a  higher. 
Now,  during  a  conversation  of  some  two  or  three  moments 
between  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  this  excellent 
and  hoary-bearded  deacon,  it  was  only  by  the  most  care- 
ful self-control  that  the  former  could  refrain  from  uttering 
certain  blasphemous  suggestions  that  rose  into  his  mind, 
respecting  the  communion-supper.  He  absolutely  trem 
bled  and  turned  pale  as  ashes,  lest  his  tongue  should 
wag  itself,  in  utterance  of  these  horrible  matters,  and 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A   MAZE.  255 

plead  his  own  consent  for  so  doing,  without  his  having 
fairly  given  it.  And,  even  with  this  terror  in  his  heart, 
he  could  hardly  avoid  laughing,  to  imagine  how  the  sanc- 
tified old  patriarchal  deacon  would  have  been  petrified 
by  his  minister's  impiety  ! 

Again,  another  incident  of  the  same  nature.  Hurry- 
ing along  the  street,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
encountered  the  eldest  female  member  of  his  church ;  a 
most  pious  and  exemplary  old  dame ;  poor,  widowed, 
lonely,  and  with  a  heart  as  full  of  reminiscences  about 
her  dead  husband  and  children,  and  her  dead  friends  of 
long  ago,  as  a  burial-ground  is  full  of  storied  grave- 
stones. Yet  all  this,  which  would  else  have  been  such 
heavy  sorrow,  was  made  almost  a  solemn  joy  to  her 
devout  old  soul,  by  religious  consolations  and  the  truths 
of  Scripture,  wherewith  she  had  fed  herself  continually 
for  more  than  thirty  years.  And,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
had  taken  her  in  charge,  the  good  grandam's  chief  earthly 
comfort  —  which,  unless  it  had  been  likewise  a  heavenly 
comfort,  could  have  been  none  at  all  —  was  to  meet  her 
pastor,  whether  casually,  or  of  set  purpose,  and  be  re- 
freshed with  a  word  of  warm,  fragrant,  heaven-breathing 
Gospel  truth,  from  his  beloved  lips,  into  her  dulled,  but 
rapturously  attentive  ear.  But,  on  this  occasion,  up  to 
the  moment  of  putting  his  lips  to  the  old  woman's  ear, 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  as  the  great  enemy  of  souls  would 
have  it,  could  recall  no  text  of  Scripture,  nor  aught  else, 
except  a  brief,  pithy,  and,  as  it  then  appeared  to  him, 
unanswerable  argument  against  the  immortality  of  the 
human  soul.  The  instilment  thereof  into  her  mind 
would  probably  have  caused  this  aged  sister  to  drop 
down  dead,  at  once,  as  by  the  effect  of  an  intensely  poi- 


2oQ  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

sonous  infusion.  What  he  really  did  whisper,  the  min- 
ister could  never  afterwards  recollect.  There  was,  per- 
haps, a  fortunate  disorder  in  his  utterance,  which  failed 
to  impart  any  distinct  idea  to  the  good  widow's  compre- 
hension, or  which  Providence  interpreted  after  a  method 
of  its  own.  Assuredly,  as  the  minister  looked  back.,  he 
beheld  an  expression  of  divine  gratitude  and  ecstasy  that 
seemed  like  the  shine  of  the  celestial  city  on  her  face,  so 
wrinkled  and  ashy  pale. 

Again,  a  third  instance.  After  parting  from  the  old 
church-member,  he  met  the  youngest  sister  of  them  all. 
It  was  a  maiden  newly  won  —  and  won  by  the  Keverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  own  sermon,  on  the  Sabbath  after  his 
vigil  —  to  barter  the  transitory  pleasures  of  the  world  for 
the  heavenly  hope,  that  was  to  assume  brighter  substance 
as  life  grew  dark  around  her,  and  which  would  gild  the 
utter  gloom  with  final  glory.  She  was  fair  and  pure  as 
a  lily  that  had  bloomed  in  Paradise.  The  minister  knew 
well  that  he  was  himself  enshrined  within  the  stainless 
sanctity  of  her  heart,  which  hung  its  snowy  curtains 
about  his  image,  imparting  to  religion  the  warmth  of 
love,  and  to  love  a  religious  purity.  Satan,  that  after- 
noon, had  surely  led  the  poor  young  girl  away  from  her 
mother's  side,  and  thrown  her  into  the  pathway  of  this 
sorely  tempted,  or  —  shall  we  not  rather  say  ?  —  this  lost 
and  desperate  man.  As  she  drew  nigh,  the  arch-fiend 
whispered  him  to  condense  into  small  compass  and  drop 
into  her  tender  bosom  a  germ  of  evil  that  would  be  sure 
to  blossom  darkly  soon,  and  bear  black  fruit  betimes. 
Such  was  his  sense  of  power  over  this  virgin  soul,  trust- 
ing him  as  she  did,  that  the  minister  felt  potent  to  blight 
all  the  ^eld  of  innocence  with  but  one  wicked  look,  and 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A   MAZE.  257 

develop  all  its  opposite  with  but  a  word.  So  —  with  a 
mightier  struggle  than  he  had  yet  sustained  —  he  held 
his  Geneva  cloak  before  his  face,  and  hurried  onward, 
making  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  leaving  the  young 
sister  to  digest  his  rudeness  as  she  might.  She  ran- 
sacked her  conscience,  —  which  was  full  of  harmless  lit- 
tle matters,  like  her  pocket  or  her  work-bag,  —  and  took 
herself  to  task,  poor  thing !  for  .a  thousand  imaginary 
faults ;  and  went  about  her  household  duties  with  swol- 
len eyelids  the  next  morning. 

Before  the  minister  had  time  to  celebrate  his  victory 
over  this  last  temptation,  he  was  conscious  of  another 
impulse,  more  ludicrous,  and  almost  as  horrible.  It  was, 
—  we  blush  to  tell  it,  —  it  was  to  stop  short  in  the  road, 
and  teach  some  very  wicked  words  to  a  knot  of  little 
Puritan  children  who  were  playing  there,  and  had  but 
just  begun  to  talk.  Denying  himself  this  freak,  as 
unworthy  of  his  cloth,  he  met  a  drunken  seaman,  one  of 
the  ship's  crew  from  the  Spanish  Main.  And,  here, 
since  he  had  so  valiantly  forborne  all  other  wickedness, 
poor  Mr.  Dimmesdale  longed,  at  least,  to  shake  hands 
with  the  tarry  blackguard,  and  recreate  himself  with  a 
few  improper  jests,  such  as  dissolute  sailors  so  abound 
with,  and  a  volley  of  good,  round,  solid,  satisfactory,  and 
heaven-defying  oaths  !  It  was  not  so  much  a  better 
principle,  as  partly  his  natural  good  taste,  and  still  more 
his  buckramed  habit  of  clerical  decorum,  that  carried  him 
safely  through  the  latter  crisis. 

"What  is  it  that  haunts  and  tempts  me  thus?"  cried 

the  minister  to  himself,  at  length,  pausing  in  the  street, 

and  striking  his   hand  against  his   forehead.     "  Am  I 

mad  ?  or  am  I  given  over  utterly  to  the  fiend  ?     Did  [ 

17 


258  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

make  a  contract  with  him  in  the  forest,  and  sign  it  with 
my  blood  ?  And  does  he  now  summon  me  to  its  fulfil- 
ment, by  suggesting  the  performance  of  every  wickedness 
which  his  most  foul  imagination  can  conceive  ?  " 

At  the  moment  when  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
thus  communed  with  himself,  and  struck  his  forehead 
with  his  hand,  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  reputed  witch- 
lady,  is  said  to  have  been  passing  by.  She  made  a 
very  grand  appearance;  having  on  a  high  head-dress, 
a  rich  gown  of  velvet,  and  a  ruff  done  up  with  the 
famous  yellow  starch,  of  which  Ann  Turner,  her  especial 
friend,  had  taught  her  the  secret,  before  this  last  good 
lady  had  been  hanged  for  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's 
murder.  Whether  the  witch  had  read  the  minister's 
thoughts,  or  no,  she  came  to  a  full  stop,  looked  shrewdly 
into  his  face,  smiled  craftily,  and  —  though  little  given 
to  converse  with  clergymen  —  began  a  conversation. 

"  So,  reverend  Sir,  you  have  made  a  visit  into  the 
forest,"  observed  the  witch-lady,  nodding  her  high  head- 
dress at  him.  "  The  next  time,  I  pray  you  to  allow  me 
only  a  fair  warning,  and  I  shall  be  proud  to  bear  you 
company.  Without  taking  overmuch  upon  myself,  my 
good  word  will  go  far  towards  gaining  any  strange  gentle- 
man a  fair  reception  from  yonder  potentate  you  wot  of! ' 

"I  profess,  madam,"  answered  the  clergyman,  with 
a  grave  obeisance,  such  as  the  lady's  rank  demanded, 
and  his  own  good-breeding  made  imperative,  —  "I  pro- 
fess, on  my  conscience  and  character,  that  I  am  utte.iy 
bewildered  as  touching  the  purport  of  your  words !  I 
went  not  into  the  forest  to  seek  a  potentate ;  neither  do 
I,  at  any  future  time,  design  a  visit  thither,  with  a  view 
to  gaining  the  favor  of  such  personage.  My  one  sum*- 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A   MAZE.  259 

cient  object  was  to  greet  that  pious  friend  of  mine,  the 
Apostle  Eliot,  and  rejoice  with  him  over  the  many 
precious  souls  he  hath  won  from  heathendom !  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  cackled  the  old  witch-lady,  still  nod- 
ding her  high  head-dress  at  the  minister.  "  Well,  well, 
we  must  needs  talk  thus  in  the  daytime !  You  carry 
it  off  like  an  old  hand !  But  at  midnight,  and  in  the 
forest,  we  shall  have  other  talk  together ! " 

She  passed  on  with  her  aged  stateliness,  but  often 
turning  back  her  head  and  smiling  at  him,  like  one 
willing  to  recognize  a  secret  intimacy  of  connection. 

"  Have  I  then  sold  myself,);  thought  the  minister,  "  to 
the-  fiend  whom,  if  men  say  true,  this  yellow-starched 
and  velveted  old  hag  has  chosen  for  her  prince  and 
master ! " 

The  wretched  minister !  He  had  made  a  bargain 
very  like  it!  Tempted  by  a  dream  of  happiness,  he 
had  yielded  himself,  with  deliberate  choice,  as  he  had 
never  done  before,  to  what  he  knew  was  deadly  sin. 
And  the  infectious  poison  of  that  sin  had  been  thus 
rapidly  diffused  throughout  his  moral  system.  It  had 
stupefied  all  blessed  impulses,  and  awakened  into  vivid 
life  the  whole  brotherhood  of  bad  ones.  Scorn,  bitter- 
ness, unprovoked  malignity,  gratuitous  desire  of  ill, 
ridicule  of  whatever  was  good  and  holy,  all  awoke,  to 
tempt,  even  while  they  frightened  him.  And  his  en- 
counter with  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  if  it  were  a  real 
incident,  did  but  show  his  sympathy  and  fellowship  with 
wicked  mortals,  and  the  world  of  perverted  spirits. 

He  had,  by  this  time,  reached  his  dwelling,  on  the 
edge  of  the  burial-ground,  and,  hastening  up  the  stairs, 
took  refuge  in  his  study.  The  minister  was  glad  to 


260  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

have  reached  this  shelter,  without  first  betraying  him 
self  to  the  world  by  any  of  those  strange  and  wicked 
eccentricities  to  which  he  had  been  continually  impelled 
while  passing  through  the  streets.  He  entered  the 
accustomed  room,  and  looked  around  him  on  its  books, 
its  windows,  its  fireplace,  and  the  tapestried  comfort  of 
the  walls,  with  the  same  perception  of  strangeness  that 
had  haunted  him  throughout  his  walk  from  the  forest- 
dell  into  the  town,  and  thitherward.  Here  he  had 
studied  and  written ;  here,  gone  through  fast  and  vigil, 
and  come  forth  half  alive ;  here,  striven  to  pray ;  here, 
borne  a  hundred  thousand  agonies !  There  was  the 
Bible,  in  its  rich  old  Hebrew,  with  Moses  and  the  Proph- 
ets speaking  to  him,  and  God's  voice  through  all! 
There,  on  the  table,  with  the  inky  pen  beside  it,  was  an 
unfinished  sermon,  with  a  sentence  broken  in  the  midst, 
where  his  thoughts  had  ceased  to  gush  out  upon  the 
page,  two  days  before.  He  knew  that  it  was  himself, 
the  thin  and  white-cheeked  minister,  who  had  done  and 
suffered  these  things,  and  written  thus  far  into  the  Elec- 
tion Sermon !  But  h?  seemed  to  stand  apart,  and  eye 
this  former  self  with  scornful,  pitying,  but  half-envious 
curiosity.  That  self  was  gone.  Another  man  had  re- 
turned out  of  the  forest ;  a  wiser  one ;  with  a  knowledge 
of  hidden  mysteries  which  the  simplicity  of  the  former 
never  could  have  reached.  A  bitter  kind  of  knowledge 
that! 

While  occupied  with  these  reflections,  a  knock  came 
at  the  door  of  the  study,  and  the  minister  said,  "  Come 
in ! "  —  not  wholly  devoid  of  an  idea  that  he  might 
behold  an  evil  spirit.  And  so  he  did !  It  was  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  that  entered.  The  minister  stood,  white 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  261 

and  speechless,  with  one  hand  on  the  Hebrew  Scriptures, 
and  the  other  spread  upon  his  breast. 

"  Welcome  home,  reverend  Sir,"  said  the  physician. 
"  And  how  found  you  that  godly  man,  the  Apostle  Eliot  ? 
But  methinks,  dear  Sir,  you  look  pale ;  as  if  the  travel 
through  the  wilderness  had  been  too  sore  for  you.  Will 
not  my  aid  be  requisite  to  put  you  in  heart  and  strength 
to  preach  your  Election  Sermon  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  think  not  so,"  rejoined  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  "  My  journey,  and  the  sight  of  the  holy 
Apostle  yonder,  and  the  free  air  which  I  have  breathed, 
have  done  me  good,  after  so  long  confinement  in  my 
study.  I  think  to  need  no  more  of  your  drugs,  my  kind 
physician,  good  though  they  be,  and  administered  by  a 
friendly  hand." 

All  this  time,  Roger  Chillirigworth  was  looking  at  the 
minister  with  the  grave  and  intent  regard  of  a  physician 
towards  his  patient.  But,  in  spite  of  this  outward  show, 
the  latter  was  almost  convinced  of  the  old  man's  knowl- 
edge, or,  at  least,  his  confident  suspicion,  with  respect  to 
his  own  interview  with  Hester  Prynne.  The  physician 
knew  then,  that,  in  the  minister's  regard,  he  was  no 
longer  a  trusted  friend,  but  his  bitterest  enemy.  So 
much  being  known,  it  would  appear  natural  that  a  part 
of  it  should  be  expressed.  It  is  singular,  however,  how 
loiig  a  time  often  passes  before  words  embody  things ; 
and  with  what  security  two  persons,  who  choose  to  avoid 
a  certain  subject,  may  approach  its  very  verge,  and  retire 
without  disturbing  it.  Thus,  the  minister  felt  no  ap- 
prehension that  Roger  Chillingworth  would  touch,  in 
express  words,  upon  the  real  position  which  they  sus- 


262  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

tained  towards  one  another.     Yet  did  the  physician,  in 
his  dark  way,  creep  frightfully  near  the  secret. 

"Were  it  not  better,"  said  he,  "that  you  use  my 
poor  skill  to-night?  Verily,  dear  Sir,  we  must  take 
pains  to  make  you  strong  and  vigorous  for  this  occasion 
of  the  Election  discourse.  The  people  look  for  great 
things  from  you;  apprehending  that  another  year  may 
come  about,  and  find  their  pastor  gone." 

"Yea,  to  another  world,"  replied  the  minister,  with 
pious  resignation.  "  Heaven  grant  it  be  a  better  one ; 
for,  in  good  sooth,  I  hardly  think  to  tarry  with  my  flock 
through  the  flitting  seasons  of  another  year!  But, 
touching  your  medicine,  kind  Sir,  in  my  present  frame 
of  body,  I  need  it  not." 

"  I  joy  to  hear  it,"  answered  the  physician.  "  It  may 
be  that  my  remedies,  so  long  administered  in  vain,  begin 
now  to  take  due  effect.  Happy  man  were  I,  and  well 
deserving  of  New  England's  gratitude,  could  I  achieve 
this  cure ! " 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  most  watchful  friend," 
said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  with  a  solemn 
smile.  "  I  thank  you,  and  can  but  requite  your  good 
deeds  with  my  prayers." 

"  A  good  man's  prayers  are  golden  recompense ! " 
rejoined  old  Roger  Chillirigworth,  as  he  took  his  leave. 
"  Yea,  they  are  the  current  gold  coin  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem, with  the  King's  own  mint-mark  on  them !  " 

Left  alone,  the  minister  summoned  a  servant  of  the 
house,  and  requested  food,  which,  being  set  before  him 
he  ate  with  ravenous  appetite.  Then,  flinging  the 
already  written  pages  of  the  Election  Sermon  into  the 
fire,  he  forthwith  began  another,  which  he  wrote  with 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  26 

such  an  impulsive  flow  of  thought  and  emotion,  that 
he  fancied  himself  inspired;  and  only  wondered  that 
Heaven  should  see  fit  to  transmit  the  grand  and  solemn 
music  of  its  oracles  through  so  foul  an  organ-pipe  as  he. 
However,  leaving  that  mystery  to  solve  itself,  or  go  un- 
solved forever,  he  drove  his  task  onward,  with  earnest 
haste  and  ecstasy.  Thus  the  night  fled  away,  as  if  it 
were  a  winged  steed,  and  he  careering  on  it;  morning 
came,  and  peeped,  blushing,  through  the  curtains ;  and 
at  last  sunrise  threw  a  golden  beam  into  the  study  and 
laid  it  right  across  the  minister's  bedazzled  eyes.  There 
he  was,  with  the  pen  still  between  his  fingers,  and  a  vast, 
immeasurable  tract  of  written  space  behind  him  \ 


264  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XXI. 

THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY. 

BETIMES  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  new 
Governor  was  to  receive  his  office  at  the  hands  of  the 
people,  Hester  Prynne  and  little  Pearl  came  into  the 
market-place.  It  was  already  thronged  with  the  crafts- 
men and  other  plebeian  inhabitants  of  the  town,  in  con- 
siderable numbers ;  among  whom,  likewise,  were  many 
rough  figures,  whose  attire  of  deer-skins  marked  them 
as  belonging  to  some  of  the  forest  settlements,  which 
surrounded  the  little  metropolis  of  the  colony. 

On  this  public  holiday,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  for 
seven  years  past,  Hester  was  clad  in  a  garment  of 
coarse  gray  cloth.  Not  more  by  its  hue  than  by  some 
indescribable  peculiarity  in  its  fashion,  it  had  the  effect 
of  making  her  fade  personally  out  of  sight  and  outline  ; 
while,  again,  the  scarlet  letter  brought  her  back  from 
this  twilight  indistinctness,  and  revealed  her  under  the 
moral  aspect  of  its  own  illumination.  Her  face,  so  long 
familiar  to  the  townspeople,  showed  the  marble  quietude 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  behold  there.  It  was 
like  a  mask ;  or,  rather,  like  the  frozen  calmness  of  a 
dead  woman's  features ;  owing  this  dreary  resemblance 
to  the  fact  that  Hester  was  actually  dead,  in  respect  to 
any  claim  of  sympathy,  and  had  departed  out  of  the 
world  with  which  she  still  seemed  to  mingle. 

It  might  be,  on  this  one  day,  that  there  was  an  ex- 
pression unseen  before,  nor,  indeed,  vivid  enough  to 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  265 

be  detected  now;  unless  some  preternaturally  gifted 
observer  should  have  first  read  the  heart,  and  have 
afterwards  sought  a  corresponding  development  in  the 
countenance  and  mien.  Such  a  spiritual  seer  might 
have  conceived,  that,  after  sustaining  the  gaze  of  the 
multitude  through  seven  miserable  years  as  a  necessity, 
a  penance,  and  something  which  it  was  a  stern  religion 
to  endure,  she  now,  for  one  last  time  more,  encountered 
it  freely  and  voluntarily,  in  order  to  convert  what  had  so 
long  been  agony  into  a  kind  of  triumph.  "  Look  your 
last  on  the  scarlet  letter  and  its  wearer  !  "  —  the  people's 
victim  and  life-long  bond-slave,  as  they  fancied  her, 
might  say  to  them.  "  Yet  a  little  while,  and  she  will 
be  beyond  your  reach  !  A  few  hours  longer,  and  the 
deep,  mysterious  ocean  will  quench  and  hide  forever  the 
symbol  which  ye  have  caused  to  burn  upon  her  bosom !  " 
Nor  were  it  an  inconsistency  too  improbable  to  be  as- 
signed to  human  nature,  should  we  suppose  a  feeling  of 
regret  in  Hester's  mind,  at  the  moment  when  she  was 
about  to  win  her  freedom  from  the  pain  which  had  been 
thus  deeply  incorporated  with  her  being.  Might  there 
not  be  an  irresistible  desire  to  quaff  a  last,  long,  breath- 
less draught  of  the  cup  of  wormwood  and  aloes,  with 
which  nearly  all  her  years  of  womanhood  had  been  per- 
petually flavored  ?  The  wine  of  life,  henceforth  to  be 
presented  to  her  lips,  must  be  indeed  rich,  delicious,  and 
exhilarating,  in  its  chased  and  golden  beaker;  or  else 
leave  an  inevitable  and  weary  languor,  after  the  lees  of 
bitterness  wherewith  she  had  been  drugged,  as  with  a 
cordial  of  intensest  potency. 

Pearl  was  decked  out  with  airy  gayety.     It  would 
have   been    impossible,   to  guess   that  this   bright  and 


266  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

sunny  apparition  owed  its  existence  to  the  shape  of 
gloomy  gray ;  or  that  a  fancy,  at  once  so  gorgeous  and 
so  delicate  as  must  have  been  requisite  to  contrive  the 
child's  apparel,  was  the  same  that  had  achieved  a  task 
perhaps  more  difficult,  in  imparting  so  distinct  a  peculiar- 
ity to  Hester's  simple  robe.  The  dress,  so  proper  was  it 
to  little  Pearl,  seemed  an  effluence,  or  inevitable  devel- 
opment and  outward  manifestation  of  her  character,  no 
more  to  be  separated  from  her  than  the  many  hued  bril- 
liancy from  a  butterfly's  wing,  or  the  painted  glory  from 
the  leaf  of  a  bright  flower.  .  As  with  these,  so  with  the 
child ;  her  garb  was  all  of  one  idea  with  her  nature.  On 
this  eventful  day,  moreover,  there  was  a  certain  singular 
inquietude  and  excitement  in  her  mood,  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  the  shimmer  of  a  diamond,  that 
sparkles  and  flashes  with  the  varied  throbbings  of  the 
breast  on  which  it  is  displayed.  Children  have  always 
a  sympathy  in  the  agitations  of  those  connected  with 
them ;  always,  especially,  a  sense  of  any  trouble  or  im- 
pending revolution,  of  whatever  kind,  in  domestic  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  therefore  Pearl,  who  was  the  gem  on 
her  mother's  unquiet  bosom,  betrayed,  by  the  very  dance 
of  her  spirits,  the  emotions  which  none  could  detect  in 
the  marble  passiveness  of  Hester's  brow. 

This  effervescence  made  her  flit  with  a  birdlike  move- 
ment, rather  than  walk  by  her  mother's  side.  She  broke 
continually  into  shouts  of  a  wild,  inarticulate,  and  some- 
times piercing  music.  When  they  reached  the  market- 
place, she  became  still  more  restless,  on  perceiving  the 
stir  and  bustle  that  enlivened  the "  spot ;  for  it  was 
usually  more  like  the  broad  and  lonesome  green  before 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND   HOLIDAY.  267 

a  village  meeting-house,  than  the  centre  of  a  town's 
business. 

"  Why,  what  is  this,  mother  ? "  cried  she.  "  Whele- 
fore  have  all  the  people  left  their  work  to-day  ?  Is  it  a 
play-day  for  the  whole  world  ?  See,  there  is  the  black- 
smith !  He  has  washed  his  sooty  face,  and  put  on  his 
Sabbath-day  clothes,  and  looks  as  if  he  would  gladly  be 
merry,  if  any  kind  body  would  only  teach  him  how ! 
And  there  is  Master  Brackett,  the  old  jailer,  nodding 
and  smiling  at  me.  Why  does  he  do  so,  mother  ?  " 

"  He  remembers  thee  a  little  babe,  my  child,"  an- 
swered Hester. 

"  He  should  not  nod  and  smile  at  me,  for  all  that,  — 
the  black,  grim,  ugly-eyed  old  man  !  "  said  Pearl.  "  He 
may  nod  at  thee,  if  he  will ;  for  thou  art  clad  in  gray, 
and  wearest  the  scarlet  letter.  But  see,  mother,  how 
many  faces  of  strange  people,  and  Indians  among  them, 
and  sailors !  What  have  they  all  come  to  do,  here  in 
the  market-place  ? " 

"  They  wait  to  see  the  procession  pass,"  said  Hester. 
"  For  the  Governor  and  the  magistrates  are  to  go  by,  and 
the  ministers,  and  all  the  great  people  and  good  people, 
with  the  music  and  the  soldiers  marching  before  them." 

"And  will  the  minister  be  there  ?  "  asked  Pearl.  "And 
will  he  hold  out  both  his  hands  to  me,  as  when  thou  ledst 
me  to  him  from  the  brook-side  ?  " 

"He  will  be  there,  child,"  answered  her  mother. 
"  But  he  will  not  greet  thee  to-day ;  nor  must  thou 
greet  him." 

"  What  a  strange,  sad  man  is  he  !  "  said  the  child,  as 
if  speaking  partly  to  herself.  "  In  the  dark  night-time 
he  calls  us  to  him,  and  holds  thy  hand  and  mine,  as 


268  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

when  we  stood  with  him  on  the  scaffold  yonder !  And 
in  the  deep  forest,  where  only  the  old  trees  can  hear,  and 
the  strip  of  sky  see  it,  he  talks  with  thee,  sitting  on  a 
heap  of  moss !  And  he  kisses  my  forehead,  too,  so  that 
the  little  brook  would  hardly  wash  it  off!  But  here,  in 
the  sunny  day,  and  among  all  the  people,  he  knows  us 
not ;  nor  must  we  know  him !  A  strange,  sad  man  is 
he,  with  his  hand  always  over  his  heart ! " 

"  Be  quiet,  Pearl !  Thou  understandest  not  these 
things,"  said  her  mother.  "  Think  not  now  of  the  min- 
ister, but  look  about  thee,  and  see  how  cheery  is  every- 
body's face  to-day.  The  children  have  come  from  their 
schools,  and  the  grown  people  from  their  workshops  and 
their  fields,  on  purpose  to  be  happy.  For,  to-day,  a  new 
man  is  beginning  to  rule  over  them ;  and  so  —  as  has 
been  the  custom  of  mankind  ever  since  a  nation  was  first 
gathered  —  they  make  merry  and  rejoice  ;  as  if  a  good 
and  golden  year  were  at  length  to  pass  over  the  poor  old 
world!" 

It  was  as  Hester  said,  in  regard  to  the  unwonted  jol- 
lity that  brightened  the  faces  of  the  people.  Into  this 
festal  season  of  the  year  —  as  it  already  was,  and  con- 
tinued to  be  during  the  greater  part  of  two  centuries  — 
the  Puritans  compressed  whatever  mirth  and  public  joy 
they  deemed  allowable  to  human  infirmity ;  thereby  so 
far  dispelling  the  customary  cloud,  that,  for  the  space  of 
a  single  holiday,  they  appeared  scarcely  more  grave 
than  most  other  communities  at  a  period  of  general 
affliction. 

But  we  perhaps  exaggerate  the  gray  or  sable  tinge, 
which  undoubtedly  characterized  the  mood  and  manners 
of  the  age.  The  persons  now  in  the  market-place  of 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  269 

Boston  had  not  been  born  to  an  inheritance  of  Puritanic 
gloom.  They  were  native  Englishmen,  whose  fathers 
had  lived  in  the  sunny  richness  of  the  Elizabethan  epoch ; 
a  time  when  the  life  of  England,  viewed  as  one  great 
mass,  would  appear  to  have  been  as  stately  magnificent, 
and  joyous,  as  the  world  has  ever  witnessed.  Had  they 
followed  their  hereditary  taste,  the  New  England  settlers 
would  have  illustrated  all  events  of  public  importance  by 
bonfires,  banquets,  pageantries,  and  processions.  Nor 
would  it  have  been  impracticable,  in  the  observance  of 
majestic  ceremonies,  to  combine  mirthful  recreation  with 
solemnity,  and  give,  as  it  were,  a  grotesque  and  brilliant 
embroidery  to  the  great  robe  of  state,  which  a  nation,  at 
such  festivals,  puts  on.  There  was  some  shadow  of  an 
attempt  of  this  kind  in  the  mode  of  celebrating  the  day 
on  which  the  political  year  of  the  colony  commenced. 
The  dim  reflection  of  a  remembered  splendor,  a  colorless 
and  manifold  diluted  repetition  of  what  they  had  beheld 
in  proud  old  London,  —  we  will  not  say  at  a  royal  coro- 
nation, but  at  a  Lord  Mayor's  show,  —  might  be  traced 
in  the  customs  which  our  forefathers  instituted,  with 
reference  to  the  annual  installation  of  magistrates.  The 
fathers  and  founders  of  the  commonwealth  —  the  states- 
man, the  priest,  and  the  soldier  —  deemed  it  a  duty  then 
to  assume  the  outward  state  and  majesty,  which,  in 
accordance  with  antique  style,  was  looked  upon  as  the 
proper  garb  of  public  or  social  eminence.  All  came 
forth,  to  move  in  procession  before  the  people's  eye,  and 
thus  impart  a  needed  dignity  to  the  simple  framework  of 
a  government  so  newly  constructed. 

Then,   too,   the    people   were    countenanced,   if  not 
encouraged,  in  relaxing  the  severe  and  close  application 


270  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

to  their  various  modes  of  rugged  industry,  which,  at  all 
other  times,  seemed  of  the  same  piece  and  material  with 
their  religion.  Here,  it  is  true,  were  none  of  the  appli- 
ances which  popular  merriment  would  so  readily  have 
found  in  the  England  of  Elizabeth's  time,  or  that  of 
James;  —  no  rude  shows  of  a  theatrical  kind;  no  min- 
strel, with  his  harp  and  legendary  ballad,  nor  gleeman, 
with  an  ape  dancing  to  his  music ;  no  juggler,  with  his 
tricks  of  mimic  witchcraft ;  no  Merry  Andrew,  to  stir  up 
the  multitude  with  jests,  perhaps  hundreds  of  years  old, 
but  still  effective,  by  their  appeals  to  the  very  broadest 
sources  of  mirthful  sympathy.  All  such  professors  of 
the  several  branches  of  jocularity  would  have  been 
sternly  repressed,  not  only  by  the  rigid  discipline  of  law, 
but  by  the  general  sentiment  which  gives  law  its  vitality. 
Not  the  less,  however,  the  great,  honest  face  of  the  peo- 
ple smiled,  grimly,  perhaps,  but  widely  too.  Nor  were 
sports  wanting,  such  as  the  colonists  had  witnessed,  and 
shared  in,  long  ago,  at  the  country  fairs  and  on  the 
village-greens  of  England ;  and  which  it  was  thought 
well  to  keep  alive  on  this  new  soil,  for  the  sake  of  the 
courage  and  manliness  that  were  essential  in  them. 
Wrestling-matches,  in  the  different  fashions  of  Cornwall 
and  Devonshire,  were  seen  here  and  there  about  the 
market-place ;  in  one  corner,  there  was  a  friendly  bout 
at  quarterstaff;  and  —  what  attracted  most  interest  of 
all  —  on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  already  so  noted  in 
our  pages,  two  masters  of  defence  were  commencing  an 
exhibition  with  the  buckler  and  broadsword.  But,  much 
to  the  disappointment  of  the  crowd,  this  latter  business 
was  broken  off  by  the  interposition  of  the  town  beadle, 
who  had  no  idea  of  permitting  the  majesty  of  the  law  to 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND   HOLIDAY.  271 

be  violated  by  such  an  abuse  of  one  of  its  consecrated 
places. 

It  may  not  be  too  much  to  affirm,  on  the  whole,  (the 
people  being  then  in  the  first  stages  of  joyless  deport- 
ment, and  the  offspring  of  sires  who  had  known  how 
to  be  merry,  in  their  day,)  that  they  would  compare 
favorably,  in  point  of  holiday  keeping,  with  their  de- 
scendants, even  at  so  long  an  interval  as  ourselves. 
Their  immediate  posterity,  the  generation  next  to  the 
early  emigrants,  wore  the  blackest  shade  of  Puritan- 
ism, and  so  darkened  the  national  visage  with  it,  that 
all  the  subsequent  years  have  not  sufficed  to  clear  it 
up.  We  have  yet  to  learn  again  the  forgotten  art  of 
£ayety. 

The  picture  of  human  life  in  the  market-place,  though 
its  general  tint  was  the  sad  gray,  brown,  or  black  of  the 
English  emigrants,  was  yet  enlivened  by  some  diversity 
of  hue.  A  party  of  Indians  —  in  their  savage  finery  of 
curiously  embroidered  deer-skin  robes,  wampum-belts, 
red  and  yellow  ochre,  and  feathers,  and  armed  with  the 
bow  and  arrow  and  stone-headed  spear — stood  apart, 
with  countenances  of  inflexible  gravity,  beyond  what 
even  the  Puntan  aspect  could  attain.  Nor,  wild  as  were 
these  painted  barbarians,  were  they  the  wildest  feature 
of  the  scene.  This  distinction  could  more  justly  be 
claimed  by  some  mariners,  —  a  part  of  the  crew  of  the 
vessel  from  the  Spanish  Main,  —  who  had  come  ashore 
to  see  the  humors  of  Election  Day.  They  were  rough- 
looking  desperadoes,  with  sun-blackened  faces,  and  an 
immensity  of  beard ;  their  wide,  short  trousers  were  con- 
fined about  the  waist  by  belts,  often  clasped  with  a  rough 
plate  of  gold,  and  sustaining  always  a  long  knife,  and, 


272  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

in  some  instances,  a  sword.  From  beneath  their  broad- 
brimmed  hats  of  palm-leaf,  gleamed  eyes  which,  even  in 
good  nature  and  merriment,  had  a  kind  of  animal 
ferocity.  They  transgressed,  without  fear  or  scruple,  the 
rules  of  behavior  that  were  binding  on  all  others  ; 
smoking  tobacco  under  the  beadle's  very  nose,  although 
each  whiff  would  have  cost  a  townsman  a  shilling ;  and 
quaffing,  at  their  pleasure,  draughts  of  wine  or  aqua-vitse 
from  pocket-flasks,  which  they  freely  tendered  to  the 
gaping  crowd  around  them.  It  -  remarkably  character- 
ized the  incomplete  morality  of  the  age,  rigid  as  we  call 
it,  that  a  license  was  allowed  the  seafaring  class,  not 
merely  for  their  freaks  on  shore,  but  for  far  more  desper- 
ate deeds  on  their  proper  element.  The  sailor  of  that 
day  would  go  near  to  be  arraigned  as  a  pirate  in  our 
own.  There  could  be  little  doubt,  for  instance,  that  this 
very  ship's  crew,  though  no  unfavorable  specimens  of  the 
nautical  brotherhood,  had  been  guilty,  as  we  should 
phrase  it,  of  depredations  on  the  Spanish  commerce, 
such  as  would  have  perilled  all  their  necks  in  a  modern 
court  of  justice. 

But  the  sea,  in  those  old  times,  heaved,  swelled  and 
foamed,  very  much  at  its  own  will,  or  subject  only  to  the 
tempestuous  wind,  with  hardly  any  attempts  at  regula- 
tion by  human  law.  The  buccaneer  on  the  wave  might 
relinquish  his  calling,  and  become  at  once,  if  he  chose,  a 
man  of  probity  and  piety  on  land ;  nor,  even  in  the  full 
career  of  his  reckless  life,  was  he  regarded  as  a  person- 
age with  whom  it  was  disreputable  to  traffic,  or  casually 
associate.  Thus,  the  Puritan  elders,  in  their  black 
cloaks,  starched  bands,  and  steeple-crowned  hats,  smiled 
not  unbenignantly  at  the  clamor  and  rude  deport- 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND   HOLIDAY,  273 

ment  of  these  jolly  seafaring  men  ;  and  it  excited  neither 
surprise  nor  animadversion,  when  so  reputable  a  citizen 
as  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  the  physician,  was  seen  to 
enter  the  market-place,  in  close  and  familiar  talk  with 
the  commander  of  the  questionable  vessel. 

The  latter  was  by  far  the  most  showy  and  gallant 
figure,  so  far  as  apparel  went,  anywhere  to  be  seen 
among  the  multitude.  He  wore  a  profusion  of  ribbons 
on  his  garment,  and  gold  lace  on  his  hat,  which  was 
also  encircled  by  a  gold  chain,  and  surmounted  with  a 
feather.  There  was  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  a  sword-cut 
on  his  forehead,  which,  by  the  arrangement  of  his  hair, 
he  seemed  anxious  rather  to  display  than  hide.  A 
landsman  could  hardly  have  worn  this  garb  and  shown 
this  face,  and  worn  and  shown  them  both  with  such  a 
galliard  air,  without  undergoing  stern  question  before 
a  magistrate,  and  probably  incurring  fine  or  impris- 
onment, or  perhaps  an  exhibition  in  the  stocks.  As 
regarded  the  shipmaster,  however,  all  was  looked  upon 
as  pertaining  to  the  character,  as  to  a  fish  his  glistening 
scales. 

After  parting  from  the  physician,  the  commander  of 
the  Bristol  ship  strolled  idly  through  the  market-place  ; 
until,  happening  to  approach  the  spot  where  Hester 
Prynne  was  standing,  he  appeared  to  recognize,  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  address  her.  As  was  usually  the  case 
wherever  Hester  stood,  a  small  vacant  area  — a  sort  of 
magic  circle  —  had  formed  itself  about  her,  into  which, 
though  the  people  were  elbowing  one  another  at  a  little 
distance,  none  ventured,  or  felt  disposed  to  intrude.  It 
was  a  forcible  type  of  the  moral  solitude  in  which  the 
scarlet  letter  enveloped  its  fated  wearer ;  partly  by  her 
IS 


274  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

own  reserve,  and  partly  by  the  instinctive,  though  no 
longer  so  unkindly,  withdrawal  of  her  fellow-creatures. 
Now,  if  never  before,  it  answered  a  good  purpose,  by 
enabling  Hester  and  the  seaman  to  speak  together  with- 
out risk  of  being  overheard ;  and  so  changed  was  Hes- 
ter Prynne's  repute  before  the  public,  that  the  matron 
in  town  most  eminent  for  rigid  morality  could  not  have 
held  such  intercourse  with  less  result  of  scandal  than 
herself. 

"  So,  mistress,"  said  the  mariner,  "  I  must  bid  the 
steward  make  ready  one  more  berth  that  you  bargained 
for !  No  fear  of  scurvy  or  ship-fever,  this  voyage  ! 
What  with  the  ship's  surgeon  and  this  other  doctor,  our 
only  danger  will  be  from  drug  or  pill ;  more  by  token, 
as  there  is"  a  lot  of  apothecary's  stuff  aboard,  which  I 
traded  for  with  a  Spanish  vessel." 

"What  mean  you?"  inquired  Hester,  startled  more 
than  she  permitted  to  appear.  "  Have  you  another  pas- 
senger ?  " 

"  Why,  know  you  not,"  cried  the  shipmaster,  "  that 
this  physician  here  —  Chillingworth,  he  calls  himself — 
is  minded  to  try  my  cabin-fare  with  you  ?  Ay,  ay, 
you  must  have  known  it ;  for  he  tells  me  he  is  of  your 
party,  and  a  close  friend  to  the  gentleman  you  spoke 
of,  —  he  that  is  in  peril  from  these  sour  old  Puritan 
rulers!" 

"  They  know  each  other  well,  indeed,"  replied  Hester, 
with  a  mien  of  calmness,  though  in  the  utmost  conster- 
nation. "  They  have  long  dwelt  together." 

Nothing  further  passed  between  the  mariner  and  Hes- 
ter Prynne.  But,  at  that  instant,  she  beheld  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  himself,  standing  in  the  remotest  corner 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND   HOLIDAY.  275 

of  the  market-place,  and  smiling  on  her ;  a  smile  which 
—  across  the  wide  and  bustling  square,  and  through  all 
the  talk  and  laughter,  and  various  thoughts,  moods,  and 
interests  of  the  crowd  —  conveyed  secret  and  fearful 
meaning. 


276  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XXII. 

THE  PROCESSION. 

BEFORE  Hester  Prynne  could  call  together  her  thoughts, 
and  consider  what  was  practicable  to  be  done  in  this  new 
and  startling  aspect  of  affairs,  the  sound  of  military  music 
was  heard  approaching  along  a  contiguous  street.  It 
denoted  the  advance  of  the  procession  of  magistrates  and 
citizens,  on  its  way  towards  the  meeting-house ;  where, 
in  compliance  with  a  custom  thus  early  established,  and 
ever  since  observed,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was 
to  deliver  an  Election  Sermon. 

Soon  the  head  of  the  procession  showed  itself,  with  a 
slow  and  stately  march,  turning  a  corner,  and  making 
its  way  across  the  market-place.  First  came  the  music. 
It  comprised  a  variety  of  instruments,  perhaps  imperfectly 
adapted  to  one  another,  and  played  with  no  great  skill ; 
but  yet  attaining  the  great  object  for  which  the  harmony 
of  drum  and  clarion  addresses  itself  to  the  multitude,  — 
that  of  imparting  a  higher  and  more  heroic  air  to  the 
scene  of  life  that  passes  before  the  eye.  Little  Pearl  at 
first  clapped  her  hands,  but  then  lost,  for  an  instant,  the 
restless  agitation  that  had  kept  her  in  a  continual  effer- 
vescence throughout  the  morning;  she  gazed  silently, 
and  seemed  to  be  borne  upward,  like  a  floating  sea-bird, 
on  the  long  heaves  and  swells  of  sound.  But  she  was 
brought  back  to  her  former  mood  by  the  shimmer  of  the 
sunshine  on  the  weapons  and  bright  armor  of  the  mili- 
tary company,  which  followed  after  the  music,  and 


THE    PROCESSION.  277 

formed  the  honorary  escort  of  the  procession.  This 
body  of  soldiery  —  which  still  sustains  a  corporate  exist- 
ence, and  marches  down  from  past  ages  with  an  ancient 
and  honorable  fame  —  was  composed  of  no  mercenary 
materials.  Its  ranks  were  filled  with  gentlemen,  who 
felt  the  stirrings  of  martial  impulse,  and  sought  to  estab- 
lish a  kind  of  College  of  Arms,  where,  as  in  an  associa- 
tion of  Knights  Templars,  they  might  learn  the  science, 
and,  so  far  as  peaceful  exercise  would  teach  them,  the 
practices  of  war.  The  high  estimation  then  placed  upon 
the  military  character  might  be  seen  in  the  lofty  port  of 
each  individual  member  of  the  company.  Some  of  them, 
indeed,  by  their  services  in  the  Low  Countries  and  on 
other  fields  of  European  warfare,  had  fairly  won  their 
title  to  assume  the  name  and  pomp  of  soldiership.  The  , 
entire  array,  moreover,  clad  in  burnished  steel,  and  with 
plumage  nodding  over  their  bright  morions,  had  a  bril- 
liancy of  effect  which  no  modern  display  can  aspire  to 
equal. 

And  yet  the  men  of  civil  eminence,  who  came  imme- 
diately behind  the  military  escort,  were  better  worth  a 
thoughtful  observer's  eye.  Even  in  outward  demeanor, 
they  showed  a  stamp  of  majesty  that  made  the  warrior's 
haughty  stride  look  vulgar,  if  not  absurd.  It  was  an 
age  when  what  we  call  talent  had  far  less  consideration 
than  now,  but  the  massive  materials  which  produce  sta- 
bility and  dignity  of  character  a  great  deal  more.  The 
people  possessed,  by  hereditary  right,  the  quality  of  rev- 
erence ;  which,  in  their  descendants,  if  it  survive  at  all, 
exists  in  smaller  proportion,  and  with  a  vastly  diminished 
force?  in  the  selection  and  estimate  of  public  men.  The 
change  may  be  for  good  or  ill,  and  is  partly,  perhaps,  for 


278  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

both.  In  that  old  day,  the  English  pettier  on  these  rude 
shores  —  having  left  king,  nobles,  and  all  degrees  of 
awful  rank  behind,  while  still  the  faculty  and  necessity 
of  reverence  were  strong  in  him  —  bestowed  it  on  the 
white  hair  and  venerable  brow  of  age ;  on  long-tried 
integrity ;  on  solid  wisdom  and  sad-colored  experience  ; 
on  endowments  of  that  grave  and  weighty  order  which 
gives  the  idea  of  permanence,  and  comes  under  the  gen- 
eral definition  of  respectability.  These  primitive  states- 
men, therefore,  —  Bradstreet,  Endicott,  Dudley,  Belling- 
ham,  and  their  compeers,  —  who  were  elevated  to  power 
by  the  early  choice  of  the  people,  seem  to  have  been  not 
often  brilliant,  but  distinguished  by  a  ponderous  sobriety, 
rather  than  activity  of  intellect.  They  had  fortitude  and 
self-reliance,  and,  in  time  of  difficulty  or  peril,  stood  up 
for  the  welfare  of  the  state  like  a  line  of  cliffs  against  a 
tempestuous  tide.  The  traits  of  character  here  indicated 
were  well  represented  in  the  square  cast  of  countenance 
and  large  physical  development  of  the  new  colonial  mag- 
istrates. So  far  as  a  demeanor  of  natural  authority  was 
concerned,  the  mother  country  need  not  have  been 
ashamed  to  see  these  foremost  men  of  an  actual  democ- 
racy adopted  into  the  House  of  Peers,  or  made  the  Privy 
Council  of  the  sovereign. 

Next  in  order  to  the  magistrates  came  the  young  and 
eminently  distinguished  divine,  from  whose  lips  the  reli- 
gious discourse  of  the  anniversary  was  expected.  His 
was  the  profession,  at  that  era,  in  which  intellectual 
ability  displayed  itself  far  more  than  in  political  life  ;  for 
—  leaving  a  higher  motive  out  of  the  question  —  it 
offered  inducements  powerful  enough,  in  the  almost  wor- 
shipping respect  of  the  community,  to  win  the  most  a  spir- 


THE    PROCESSION.  279 

ing  ambition  into  its  service.  Even  political  power —  as 
in  the  case  of  Increase  Mather  —  was  within  the  grasp 
of  a  successful  priest. 

It  was  the  observation  of  those  who  beheld  him  now, 
that  never,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  first  set  his  foot  on  the 
New  England  shore,  had  he  exhibited,  such  energy  as 
was  seen  in  the  gait  and  air  with  which  he  kept  his  pace 
in  the  procession.  There  was  no  feebleness  of  step,  as 
at  other  times ;  his  frame  was  not  bent ;  nor  did  his 
hand  rest  ominously  upon  his  heart.  Yet,  if  the  clergy- 
man were  rightly  viewed,  his  strength  seemed  not  of  the 
body.  It  might  be  spiritual,  and  imparted  to  him  by 
angelic  ministrations.  It  might  be  the  exhilaration  of 
that  potent  cordial,  which  is  distilled  only  in  the  furnace- 
glow  of  earnest  and  long-continued  thought.  Or,  per- 
chance, his  sensitive  temperament  was  invigorated  by 
the  loud  and  piercing  music,  that  swelled  heavenward, 
and  uplifted  him  on  its  ascending  wave.  Nevertheless, 
so  abstracted  was  his  look,  it  might  be  questioned  whether 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  even  heard  the  music.  There  was  his 
body,  moving  onward,  and  with  an  unaccustomed  force. 
But  where  was  his  mind  ?  Far  and  deep  in  its  own 
region,  busying  itself,  with  preternatural  activity,  to 
marshal  a  procession  of  stately  thoughts  that  were  soon 
to  issue  thence ;  and  so  he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
knew  nothing,  of  what  was  around  him ;  but  the  spiritual 
element  took  up  the  feeble  frame,  and  carried  it  along, 
unconscious  of  the  burden,  and  converting  it  to  spirit  like 
itself.  Men  of  uncommon  intellect,  who  have  grown 
morbid,  possess  this  occasional  power  of  mighty  effort, 
into  which  they  throw  the  life  of  many  days,  and  then 
are  lifeless  for  as  many  more. 


280  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Hester  Prynne,  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  clergyman, 
felt  a  dreary  influence  come  over  her,  but  wherefore  or 
whence  she  knew  not ;  unless  that  he  seemed  so  remote 
from  her  own  sphere,  and  utterly  beyond  her  reach. 
One  glance  of  recognition,  she  had  imagined,  must  needs 
pass  between  them.  She  thought  of  the  dim  forest,  with 
its  little  dell  of  solitude,  and  love,  and  anguish,  and  the 
mossy  tree-trunk,  where,  sitting  hand  in  hand,  they  had 
mingled  their  sad  and  passionate  talk  with  the  melan- 
choly murmur  of  the  brook.  How  deeply  had  they 
known  each  other  then  !  And  Avas  this  the  man  ?  She 
hardly  knew  him  now !  He,  moving  proudly  past,  en- 
veloped, as  it  were,  in  the  rich  music,  with  the  proces- 
sion of  majestic  and  venerable  fathers  ;  he,  so  unattaina- 
ble in  his  worldly  position,  and  still  more  so  in  that  far 
vista  of  his  unsympathizing  thoughts,  through  which  she 
now  beheld  him  !  Her  spirit  sank  with  the  idea  that  all 
must  have  been  a  delusion,  and  that,  vividly  as  she  had 
dreamed  it,  there  could  be  no  real  bond  betwixt  the 
clergyman  and  herself.  And  thus  much  of  woman  was 
there  in  Hester,  that  she  could  scarcely  forgive  him,  — 
least  of  all  now,  when  the  heavy  footstep  of  their  ap- 
proaching Fate  might  be  heard,  nearer,  nearer,  nearer! 
—  for  being  able  so  completely  to  withdraw  himself  from 
their  mutual  world;  while  she  groped  darkly,  and 
stretched  forth  her  cold  hands,  and  found  him  not. 

Pearl  either  saw  and  responded  to  her  mother's  feel- 
ings, or  herself  felt  the  remoteness  and  intangibility  that 
had  fallen  around  the  minister.  While  the  procession 
passed,  the  child  was  uneasy,  buttering  up  and  down, 
like  a  bird  on  the  point  of  taking  flight.  When  the 
whole  had  gone  by,  she  looked  up  into  Hester's  face. 


THE    PROCESSION.  281 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  was  that  the  same  minister  that 
kissed  me  by  the  brook  ?  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  dear  little  Pearl !  "  whispered  her 
mother.  "  We  must  not  always  talk  in  the  market- 
place of  what  happens  to  us  in  the  forest." 

"  I  could  not  be  sure  that  it  was  he ;  so  strange  he 
looked,"  continued  the  child.  "  Else  I  would  have  run 
to  him,  and  bid  him  kiss  me  now,  before  all  the  people ; 
even  as  he  did  yonder  among  the  dark  old  trees.  What 
would  the  minister  have  said,  mother  ?  Would  he  have 
clapped  his  hand  over  his  heart,  and  scowled  on  me.  and 
bid  me  begone  ?  " 

"  What  should  he  say,  Pearl,"  answered  Hester, "  save 
that  it  was  no  time  to  kiss,  and  that  kisses  are  not  to  be 
given  in  the  market-place  ?  Well  for  thee,  foolish  child, 
that  thou  didst  not  speak  to  him !  " 

Another  shade  of  the  same  sentiment,  in  reference 
to  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  was  expressed  by  a  person  whose 
eccentricities  —  or  insanity,  as  we  should  term  it  —  led 
her  to  do  what  few  of  the  townspeople  would  have  ven- 
tured on  ;  to  begin  a  conversation  with  the  wearer  of 
the  scarlet  letter,  in  public.  It  was  Mistress  Hibbins, 
who,  arrayed  in  great  magnificence,  with  a  triple  ruff,  a 
broidered  stomacher,  a  gown  of  rich  velvet,  and  a  gold- 
headed  cane,  had  come  forth  to  see  the  procession.  As 
this  ancient  lady  had  the  renown  (which  subsequently 
cost  her  no  less  a  price  than  her  life)  of  being  a  principal 
actor  in  all  the  works  of  necromancy  that  were  continu- 
ally going  forward,  the  crowd  gave  way  before  her,  and 
seemed  to  fear  the  touch  of  her  garment,  as  if  it  carried 
the  plague  among  its  gorgeous  folds.  Seen  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Hester  Prynne,  — kindly  as  so  many  now  felt 


282  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

lowards  the  latter, — the  dread  inspired  by  Mistress 
Hibbins  was  doubled,  and  caused  a  general  movement 
from  that  part  of  the  market-place  in  which  the  two 
women  stood. 

"  Now,  what  mortal  imagination  could  conceive  it !  " 
whispered  the  old  lady,  confidentially,  to  Hester.  "  Yon- 
der divine  man  !  That  saint  on  earth,  as  the  people 
uphold  him  to  be,  and  as  —  I  must  needs  say  —  he 
really  looks  !  Who,  now,  that  saw  him  pass  in  the  pro- 
cession, would  think  how  little  while  it  is  since  he  went 
forth  out  of  his  study,  —  chewing  a  Hebrew  text  of 
Scripture  in  his  mouth,  I  warrant,  —  to  take  an  airing 
in  the  forest !  Aha  !  we  know  what  that  means,  Hester 
Prynne  !  But,  truly,  forsooth,  I  find  it  hard  to  believe 
him  the  same  man.  Many  a  church-member  saw  I, 
walking  behind  the  music,  that  has  danced  in  the  same 
measure  with  me,  when  Somebody  was  fiddler,  and,  it 
might  be,  an  Indian  powwow  or  a  Lapland  wizard  chang- 
ing hands  with  us  !  That  is  but  a  trifle,  when  a  woman 
knows  the  world.  But  this  minister!  Couldst  thou 
surely  tell,  Hester,  whether  he  was  the  same  man  that 
encountered  thee  on  the  forest-path  ?  " 

"  Madam,  I  know  not  of  what  you  speak,"  answered 
Hester  Prynne,  feeling  Mistress  Hibbins  to  be  of  infirm 
mind ;  yet  strangely  startled  and  awe-stricken  by  the 
confidence  with  which  she  affirmed  a  personal  connection 
between  so  many  persons  (herself  among  them)  and  the 
Evil  One.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  talk  lightly  of  a  learned 
and  pious  minister  of  the  Word,  like  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  !  " 

"  Fie,  woman,  fie ! "  cried  the  old  lady,  shaking  her 
finger  at  Hester.  "  Dost  thou  think  I  have  been  to  the 


THE    PROCESSION.  283 

forest  so  many  times,  and  have  yet  no  skill  to  judge 
who  else  has  been  there  ?  Yea ;  though  no  leaf  of  the 
wild  garlands,  which  they  wore  while  they  danced,  be 
left  in  their  hair !  I  know  thee,  Hester ;  for  I  behold 
the  token.  We  may  all  see  it  in  the  sunshine  ;  and  it 
glows  like  a  red  flame  in  the  dark.  Thou  wearest  it 
openly ;  so  there  need  be  no  question  about  that.  But 
this  minister!  Let  me  tell  thee,  in  thine  ear!  When 
the  Black  Man  sees  one  of  his  own  servants,  signed  and 
sealed,  so  shy  of  owning  to  the  bond  as  is  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  he  hath  a  way  of  ordering  matters  so 
that  the  mark  shall  be  disclosed  in  open  daylight  to  the 
eyes  of  all  the  world !  What  is  it  that  the  minister 
seeks  to  hide,  with  his  hand  always  over  his  heart  ?  Ha. 
Hester  Prynne ! " 

"  What  is  it,  good  Mistress  Hibbins  ? "  eagerly  asked 
little  Pearl.  "  Hast  thou  seen  it  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  darling !  "  responded  Mistress  Hibbins, 
making  Pearl  a  profound  reverence.  "  Thou  thyself 
wilt  see  it,  one  time  or  another.  They  say,  child,  thou 
art  of  the  lineage  of  the  Prince  of  the  Air !  Wilt  thou 
ride  with  me,  some  fine  night,  to  see  thy  father  ?  Then 
thou  shalt  know  wherefore  the  minister  keeps  his  hand 
over  his  heart !  " 

Laughing  so  shrilly  that  all  the  market-place  could 
hear  her,  the  weird  old  gentlewoman  took  her  departure. 

By  this  time  the  preliminary  prayer  had  been  offered 
in  the  meeting-house,  and  the  accents  of  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  were  heard  commencing  his  discourse. 
An  irresistible  feeling  kept  Hester  near  the  spot.  As  the 
sacred  edifice  was  too  much  thronged  to  admit  another 
auditor,  she  took  up  her  position  close  beside  the  scaffold 


284  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

of  the  pillory.  It  was  in  sufficient  proximity  to  bring 
the  whole  sermon  to  her  ears,  in  the  shape  of  an  indis- 
tinct, but  varied,  murmur  and  flow  of  the  minister's  very 
peculiar  voice. 

This  vocal  organ  was  in  itself  a  rich  endowment; 
insomuch  that  a  listener,  comprehending  nothing  of  the 
language  in  which  the  preacher  spoke,  might  still  have 
been  swayed  to  and  fro  by  the  mere  tone  and  cadence. 
Like  all  other  music,  it  breathed  passion  and  pathos,  and 
emotions  high  or  tender,  in  a  tongue  native  to  the  human 
heart,  wherever  educated.  Muffled  as  the  sound  was 
by  its  passage  through  the  church-walls,  Hester  Prynne 
listened  with  such  intentness,  and  sympathized  so  inti- 
mately, that  the  sermon  had  throughout  a  meaning  for  her, 
entirely  apart  from  its  indistinguishable  words.  These, 
perhaps,  if  more  distinctly  heard,  might  have  been  only 
a  grosser  medium,  and  have  clogged  the  spiritual  sense 
Now  she  caught  the  low  undertone,  as  of  the  wind  sink- 
ing down  to  repose  itself;  then  ascended  with  it,  as  it 
rose  through  progressive  gradations  of  sweetness  and 
power,  until  its  volume  seemed  to  envelop  her  with  an 
atmosphere  of  awe  and  solemn  grandeur.  And  yet, 
majestic  as  the  voice  sometimes  became,  there  was  for- 
ever in  it  an  essential  character  of  plaintiveness.  A  loud 
or  low  expression  of  anguish,  —  the  whisper,  or  the 
shriek,  as  it  might  be  conceived,  of  suffering  humanity, 
that  touched  a  sensibility  in  every  bosom  !  At  times 
this  deep  strain  of  pathos  was  all  that  could  be  heard, 
and  scarcely  heard,  sighing  amid  a  desolate  silence.  But 
even  when  the  minister's  voice  grew  high  and  command- 
ing, —  when  it  gushed  irrepressibly  upward,  —  when  it 
assumed  its  utmost  breadth  and  power,  so  overfilling  the 


THE    PROCESSION.  285 

church  as  to  burst  its  way  through  the  solid  walls,  and 
diffuse  itself  in  the  open  air,  —  still,  if  the  auditor  listened 
intently,  and  for  the  purpose,  he  could  detect  the  same 
cry  of  pain.  What  was  it  ?  The  complaint  of  a  human 
heart,  sorrow-laden,  perchance  guilty,  telling  its  secret, 
whether  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to  the  great 'heart  of  man- 
kind ;  beseeching  its  sympathy  or  forgiveness,  —  at 
every  moment,  —  in  each  accent,  —  and  never  in  vain  ! 
It  was  this  profound  and  continual  undertone  that  gave 
the  clergyman  his  most  appropriate  power. 

During  all  this  time,  Hester  stood,  statue-like,  at  the 
foot  of  the  scaffold.  If  the  minister's  voice  had  not 
kept  her  there,  there  would  nevertheless  have  been  an 
inevitable  magnetism  in  that  spot,  whence  she  dated  the 
first  hour  of  her  life  of  ignominy.  There  was  a  sense 
within  her,  —  too  ill-defined  to  be  made  a  thought,  but 
weighing  heavily  on  her  mind,  —  that  her  whole  orb  of 
life,  both  before  and  after,  was  connected  with  this  spot, 
as  with  the  one  point  that  gave  it  unity. 

Little  Pearl,  meanwhile,  had  quitted  her  mother's 
side,  and  was  playing  at  her  own  will  about  the  market- 
place. She  made  the  sombre  crowd  cheerful  by  her 
erratic  and  glistening  ray ;  even  as  a  bird  of  bright  plum- 
age illuminates  a  whole  tree  of  dusky  foliage,  by  dart- 
ing to  and  fro,  half  seen  and  half  concealed  amid  the 
twilight  of  the  clustering  leaves.  She  had  an  undula- 
ting, but,  oftentimes,  a  sharp  and  irregular  movement.  It 
indicated  the  restless  vivacity  of  her  spirit,  which  to-day 
was  doubly  indefatigable  in  its  tiptoe  dance,  because  it 
was  played  upon  and  vibrated  with  her  mother's  disqui- 
etude. Whenever  Pearl  saw  anything  to  excite  her  ever 
active  and  wandering  curiosity,  she  flew  thitherward, 


286  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and,  as  we  might  say,  seized  upon  that  man  or  thing  as 
her  own  property,  so  far  as  she  desired  it ;  but  without 
yielding  the  minutest  degree  of  control  over  her  motions 
hi  requital.  The  Puritans  looked  on,  and,  if  they  smiled, 
were  none  the  less  inclined  to  pronounce  the  child  a 
demon  offspring,  from  the  indescribable  charm  of  beauty 
and  eccentricity  that  shone  through  her  little  figure,  and 
sparkled  with  its  activity.  She  ran  and  looked  the  wild 
Indian  in  the  face ;  and  he  grew  conscious  of  a  nature 
wilder  than  his  own.  Thence,  with  native  audacity, 
but  still  with  a  reserve  as  characteristic,  she  flew  into 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  mariners,  the  swarthy-cheeked 
wild  men  of  the  ocean,  as  the  Indians  were  of  the  land; 
and  they  gazed  wonderingly  and  admiringly  at  Pearl,  as 
if  a  flake  of  the  sea-foam  had  taken  the  shape  of  a  little 
maid,  and  were  gifted  with  a  soul  of  the  sea-fire,  that 
flashes  beneath  the  prow  in  the  night-time. 

One  of  these  seafaring  men  —  the  shipmaster,  indeed, 
who  had  spoken  to  Hester  Prynne  —  was  so  smitten  with 
Pearl's  aspect,  that  he  attempted  to  lay  hands  upon  her, 
with  purpose  to  snatch  a  kiss.  Finding  it  as  impossible 
to  touch  her  as  to  catch  a  humming-bird  in  the  air,  he 
took  from  his  hat  the  gold  chain  that  was  twisted  about 
it,  and  threw' it  to  the  child.  Pearl  immediately  twined 
it  around  her  neck  and  waist,  with  such  happy  skill,  that, 
once  seen  there,  it  became  a  part  of  her,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  imagine  her  without  it. 

"  Thy  mother  is  yonder  woman  with  the  scarlet  let- 
ter," said  the  seaman.  "  Wilt  thou  carry  her  a  message 
from  me  ? " 

"  If  the  message  pleases  me,  I  will,"  answered  Pearl. 

"Then  tell  her,"  rejoined   he,  "that  I  spake  again 


THE    PROCESSION.  287 

with  the  black-a-visaged,  hurnp-shouldered  old  doctor, 
and  he  engages  to  bring  his  friend,  the  gentleman  she 
wots  of,  aboard  with  him.  So  let  thy  mother  take  no 
thought,  save  for  herself  and  thee.  Wilt  thou  tell  her 
this,  thou  witch-baby  ?  " 

"  Mistress  Hibbins  says  my  father  is  the  Prince  of 
the  Air !  "  cried  Pearl,  with  a  naughty  smile.  "  If  thou 
callest  me  that  ill  name,  I  shall  tell  him  of  thee ;  and  he 
will  chase  thy  ship  with  a  tempest !  " 

Pursuing  a  zigzag  course  across  the  market-place,  the 
child  returned  to  her  mother,  and  communicated  what 
the  mariner  had  said.  Hester's  strong,  calm,  steadfastly 
enduring  spirit  almost  sank,  at  last,  on  beholding  this 
dark  and  grim  countenance  of  an  inevitable  doom,  which 

—  at  the  moment  when  a  passage   seemed  to  open  foi 
the  minister  and  herself  out  of  their  labyrinth  of  misery 

—  showed  itself,  with  an  unrelenting  smile,  right  in  the 
midst  of  their  path. 

With  her  mind  harassed  by  the  terrible  perplexity 
in  which  the  shipmaster's  intelligence  involved  her,  she 
was  also  subjected  to  another  trial.  There  were  many 
people  present,  from  the  country  round  about,  who  had 
often  heard  of  the  scarlet  letter,  and  to  whom  it  had 
been  made  terrific  by  a  hundred  false  or  exaggerated 
rumors,  but  who  had  never  beheld  it  with  their  own 
bodily  eyes.  These,  after  exhausting  other  modes  of 
amusement,  now  thronged  about  Hester  Prynne  with 
rude  and  boorish  intrusiveness.  Unscrupulous  as  it  was, 
however,  it  could  not  bring  them  nearer  than  a  circuit 
of  several  yards.  At  that  distance  they  accordingly 
stood,  fixed  there  by  the  centrifugal  force  of  the  repug- 
nance which  the  mystic  symbol  inspired.  The  whole 


288  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

gang  of  sailors,  likewise,  observing  the  press  of  spectators, 
and  learning  the  purport  of  the  scarlet  letter,  came  and 
thrust  their  sunburnt  and  desperado-looking  faces  into 
the  ring.  Even  the  Indians  were  affected  by  a  sort  of 
cold  shadow  of  the  white  man's  curiosity,  and,  gliding 
through  the  crowd,  fastened  their  snake-like  black  eyes 
on  Hester's  bosom ;  conceiving,  perhaps,  that  the  wearer 
of  this  brilliantly  embroidered  badge  must  needs  be  a 
personage  of  high  dignity  among  her  people.  Lastly 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  (their  own  interest  in  this 
worn-out  subject  languidly  reviving  itself,  by  sympathy 
with  what  they  saw  others  feel)  lounged  idly  to  the  same 
quarter,  and  tormented  Hester  Prynne,  perhaps  more 
than  all  the  rest,  with  their  cool,  well-acquainted  gaze  at 
her  familiar  shame.  Hester  saw  and  recognized  the 
self-same  faces  of  that  group  of  matrons,  who  had  awaited 
her  forthcoming  from  the  prison-door,  seven  years  ago , 
all  save  one,  the  youngest  and  only  compassionate 
among  them,  whose  burial-robe  she  had  since  made. 
At  the  final  hour,  when  she  was  so  soon  to  fling  aside 
the  burning  letter,  it  had  strangely  become  the  centre  of 
more  remark  and  excitement,  and  was  thus  made  to  sear 
her  breast  more  painfully,  than  at  any  time  since  the 
first  day  she  put  it  on. 

While  Hester  stood  in  that  magic  circle  of  ignominy, 
where  the  cunning  cruelty  of  her  sentence  seemed  to 
have  fixed  her  forever,  the  admirable  preacher  was 
looking  down  from  the  sacred  pulpit  upon  an  audience, 
whose  very  inmost  spirits  had  yielded  to  his  control. 
The  sainted  minister  in  the  church!  The  woman  of 
the  scarlet  letter  in  the  market-place !  What  imagi- 
nation would  have  been  irreverent  enough  to  surmise 
that  the  same  scorching-  stigma  was  on  them  both  I 


THE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.  289 


XXIII. 

THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

THE  eloquent  voice,  on  which  the  souls  of  the  listen- 
ing audience  had  been  borne  aloft  as  on  the  swelling 
waves  of  the  sea,  at  length  came  to  a  pause.  There 
was  a  momentary  silence,  profound  as  what  should  fol- 
low the  utterance  of  oracles.  Then  ensued  a  murmur 
and  half-hushed  tumult;  as  if  the  auditors,  released 
from  the  high  spell  that  had  transported  them  into  the 
region  of  another's  mind,  were  returning  into  themselves, 
with  all  their  awe  and  wonder  still  heavy  on  them.  In 
a  moment  more,  the  crowd  began  to  gush  forth  from  the 
doors  of  the  church.  Now  that  there  was  an  end,  they 
needed  other  breath,  more  fit  to  support  the  gross  and 
earthly  life  into  which  they  relapsed,  than  that  atmos- 
phere which  the  preacher  had  converted  into  words  of 
flame,  and  had  burdened  with  the  rich  fragrance  of  his 
thought. 

In  the  open  air  their  rapture  broke  into  speech.  The 
street  and  the  market-place  absolutely  babbled,  from  side 
to  side,  with  applauses  of  the  minister.  His  hearers 
could  not  rest  until  they  had  told  one  another  of  what 
each  knew  better  than  he  could  tell  or  hear.  According 
to  their  united  testimony,  never  had  man  spoken  in  so 
wise,  so  high,  and  so  holy  a  spirit,  as  he  that  spake  this 
day ;  nor  had  inspiration  ever  breathed  through  mortal 
lips  more  evidently  than  it  did  through  his.  Its  influ- 
ence could  be  seen,  as  it  were,  descending  upon  him, 
19 


290  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  possessing  him,  and  continually  lifting  him  out  of 
the  written  discourse  that  lay  before  him,  and  filling  him 
with  ideas  that  must  have  been  as  marvellous  to  himself 
as  to  his  audience.  His  subject,  it  appeared,  had  been 
the  relation  between  the  Deity  and  the  communities  of 
mankind,  with  a  special  reference  to  the  New  England 
which  they  were  here  planting  in  the  wilderness.  And, 
as  he  drew  towards  the  close,  a  spirit  as  of  prophecy  had 
come  upon  him,  constraining  him  to  its  purpose  as 
mightily  as  the  old  prophets  of  Israel  were  constrained  ; 
only  with  this  difference,  that,  whereas  the  Jewish  seers 
had  denounced  judgments  and  ruin  on  their  country,  it 
was  his  mission  to  foretell  a  high  and  glorious  destiny 
for  the  newly  gathered  people  of  the  Lord.  But,  through- 
out it  all,  and  through  the  whole  discourse,  there  had 
been  a  certain  deep,  sad  undertone  of  pathos,  which 
could  not  be  interpreted  otherwise  than  as  the  natural 
regret  of  one  soon  to  pass  away.  Yes ;  their  minister 
whom  they  so  loved  —  and  who  so  loved  them  all,  that 
he  could  not  depart  heavenward  without  a  sigh  —  had  the 
foreboding  of  untimely  death  upon  him,  and  would  soon 
leave  them  in  their  tears !  This  idea  of  his  transitory 
stay  on  earth  gave  the  last  emphasis  to  the  effect  which 
the  preacher  had  produced ;  it  was  as  if  an  angel,  in  his 
passage  to  the  skies,  had  shaken  his  bright  wings  over 
the  people  for  an  instant,  —  at  once  a  shadow  and  a 
splendor,  —  and  had  shed  down  a  shower  of  golden 
truths  upon  them. 

Thus,  there  had  come  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale  —  as  to  most  men,  in  their  various  spheres,  though 
seldom  recognized  until  they  see  it  far  behind  them  — 
an  epoch  of  life  more  brilliant  and  full  of  triumph  than 


THE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.         291 

any  previous  one,  or  than  any  which  could  hereafter  be. 
He  stood,  at  this  moment,  on  the  very  proudest  eminence 
of  superiority,  to  which  the  gifts  of  intellect,  rich  lore, 
prevailing  eloquence,  and  a  reputation  of  whitest  sanctity, 
could  exalt  a  clergyman  in  New  England's  earliest  days, 
when  the  professional  character  was  of  itself  a  lofty 
pedestal.  Such  was  the  position  which  the  minister 
occupied,  as  he  bowed  his  head  forward  on  the  cushions 
of  the  pulpit,  at  the  close  of  his  Election  Sermon.  Mean- 
while Hester  Prynne  was  standing  beside  the  scaffold  of 
the  pillory,  with  the  scarlet  letter  still  burning  on  her 
breast ! 

Now  was  heard  again  the  clangor  of  the  music,  and  the 
measured  tramp  of  the  military  escort,  issuing  from  the 
church-door.  The  procession  was  to  be  marshalled  thence 
to  the  town-hall,  where  a  solemn  banquet  would  complete 
the  ceremonies  of  the  day. 

Once  more,  therefore,  the  train  of  venerable  and  ma- 
jestic fathers  was  seen  moving  through  a  broad  pathway 
of  the  people,  who  drew  back  reverently,  on  either  side, 
as  the  Governor  and  magistrates,  the  old  and  wise  men, 
the  holy  ministers,  and  all  that  were  eminent  and  re- 
nowned, advanced  into  the  midst  of  them.  When  they 
were  fairly  in  the  market-place,  their  presence  was  greeted 
by  a  shout.  This  —  though  doubtless  it  might  acquire 
additional  force  and  volume  from  the  childlike  loyally 
which  the  age  awarded  to  its  rulers  —  was  felt  to  be  an 
irrepressible  outburst  of  enthusiasm  kindled  in  the  audi- 
tors by  that  high  strain  of  eloquence  which  was  yet 
reverberating  in  their  ears.  Each  felt  the  impulse  m 
himself,  and,  in  the  same  breath,  caught  it  from  his 
neighbor.  Within  the  church,  it  had  hardly  been  kept 


292  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

down;  beneath  the  sky,  it  pealed  upward  to  the  zenith. 
There  were  human  beings  enough,  and  enough  of 
highly  wrought  and  symphonious  feeling,  to  produce 
that  more  impressive  sound  than  the  organ  tones  of  the 
blast,  or  the  thunder,  or  the  roar  of  the  sea ;  even  that 
mighty  swell  of  many  voices,  blended  into  one  great 
voice  by  the  universal  irtfpulse  which  makes  likewise 
one  vast  heart  out  of  the  many.  Never,  from  the  soil 
of  New  England,  had  gone  up  such  a  shout !  Never, 
on  New  England  soil,  had  stood  the  man  so  honored  by 
his  mortal  brethren  as  the  preacher ! 

How  fared  it  with  him  then?  Were  there  not  the 
brilliant  particles  of  a  halo  in  the  air  about  his  head  ? 
So  etherealized  by  spirit  as  he  was,  and  so  apotheosized 
by  worshipping  admirers,  did  his  footsteps,  in  the  proces- 
sion, really  tread  upon  the  dust  of  earth  ? 

As  the  ranks  of  military  men  and  civil  fathers  moved 
onward,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  point  where 
the  minister  was  seen  to  approach  among  them.  The 
shout  died  into  a  murmur,  as  one  portion  of  the  crowd 
after  another  obtained  a  glimpse  of  him.  How  feeble 
and  pale  he  looked,  amid  all  his  triumph !  The  energy 
—  or  say,  rather,  the  inspiration  which  had  held  him  up, 
until  he  should  have  delivered  the  sacred  message  that 
brought  its  own  strength  along  with  it  from  heaven  — 
was  withdrawn,  now  that  it  had  so  faithfully  performed 
its  office.  The  glow,  which  they  had  just  before  beheld 
burning  on  his  cheek,  was  extinguished,  like  a  flame 
that  sinks  down  hopelessly  among  the  late-decaying 
embers.  It  seemed  hardly  the  face  of  a  man  alive,  with 
such  a  deathlike  hue ;  it  was  hardly  a  man  with  life  in 


THE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.        293 

him,  that  tottered  on  his  path  so  nervelessly  yet  tot- 
tered, and  did  not  fall ! 

One  of  his  clerical  brethren,  —  it  was  the  venerable 
John  Wilson,  —  observing  the  state  in  which  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale  was  left  by  the  retiring  wave  of  intellect  and 
sensibility,  stepped  forward  hastily  to  offer  his  support. 
The  minister  tremulously,  but  decidedly,  repelled  the  old 
man's  arm.  He  still  walked  onward,  if  that  movement 
could  be  so  described,  which  rather  resembled  the  waver- 
ing effort  of  an  infant,  with  its  mother's  arms  in  view, 
outstretched  to  tempt  him  forward.  And  now,  almost 
imperceptible  as  were  the  latter  steps  of  his  progress,  he 
had  come  opposite  the  well -remembered  and  weather- 
darkened  scaffold,  where,  long  since,  with  all  that  dreary- 
lapse  of  time  between,  Hester  Prynne  had  encountered 
the  world's  ignominious  stare.  There  stood  Hester, 
holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand  !  And  there  was  the 
scarlet  letter  on  ner  breast !  The  minister  here  made  a 
pause ;  although  the  music  still  played  the  stately  and 
rejoicing  march  to  which  the  procession  moved.  It 
summoned  him  onward,  —  onward  to  the  festival! — but 
here  he  made  a  pause. 

Bellingham,  for  the  last  few  moments,  had  kept  an 
anxious  eye  upon  him.  He  now  left  his  own  place  in 
the  procession,  and  advanced  to  give  assistance ;  judging, 
from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  aspect,  that  he  must  otherwise 
inevitably  fall.  But  there  was  something  in  the  latter's 
expression  that  warned  back  the  magistrate,  although  a 
man  not  readily  obeying  the  vague  intimations  that  pass 
from  one  spirit  to  another.  The  crowd,  meanwhile, 
looked  on  with  awe  and  wonder.  This  earthly  faintness 
was,  in  their  view,  only  another  phase  of  the  minister's 


294  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

celestial  strength ;  nor  would  it  have  seemed  a  miracle 
too  high  to  be  wrought  for  one  so  holy,  had  he  ascended 
before  their  eyes,  waxing  dimmer  and  brighter,  and 
fading  at  last  into  the  light  of  heaven ! 

He  turned  towards  the  scaffold,  and  stretched  forth  his 
arms. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  come  hither !  Come,  my  little 
Pearl!" 

It  was  a  ghastly  look  with  which  he  regarded  them ; 
but  there  was  something  at  once  tender  and  strangely 
triumphant  in  it.  The  child,  with  the  bird-like  motion 
which  was  one  of  her  characteristics,  flew  to  him,  and 
clasped  her  arms  about  his  knees.  Hester  Prynne  — 
slowly,  as  if  impelled  by  inevitable  fate,  and  against  her 
strongest  will  —  likewise  drew  near,  but  paused  before 
she  reached  him.  At  this  instant,  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  thrust  himself  through  the  crowd,  —  or,  perhaps,  so 
dark,  disturbed  and  evil,  was  his  look,  he  rose  up  out  of 
some  nether  region, — to  snatch  back  his  victim  from 
what  he  sought  to  do !  Be  that  as  it  might,  the  old  man 
rushed  forward,  and  caught  the  minister  by  the  arm. 

"  Madman,  hold !  what  is  your  purpose  ?"  whispered 
he.  "  Wave  back  that  woman  !  Cast  off  this  child  ! 
All  shall  be  well !  Do  not  blacken  your  fame,  and 
perish  in  dishonor !  I  can  yet  save  you !  Would  you 
bring  infamy  on  your  sacred  profession  ? " 

"Ha,  tempter!  Methinks  thou  art  too  late!"  an- 
swered the  minister,  encountering  his  eye,  fearfully,  but 
firmly.  "  Thy  power  is  not  what  it  was  !  With  God's 
help,  I  shall  escape  thee  now ! " 

He  again  extended  his  hanc7  to  the  woman  of  the 
scarlet  letter. 


THE    REVELATION    CF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.        295 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  cried  he,  with  a  piercing  earnest- 
ness, "  in  the  name  of  Him,  so  terrible  and  so  merciful, 
who  gives  me  grace,  at  this  last  moment,  to  do  what  — 
for  my  own  heavy  sin  and  miserable  agony —  I  withheld 
myself  from  doing  seven  years  ago,  come  hither  now, 
and  twine  thy  strength  about  me !  Thy  strength,  Hester ; 
but  let  it  be  guided  by  the  will  which  God  hath  granted 
me  !  This  wretched  and  wronged  old  man  is  opposing 
it  with  all  his  might ! —  with  all  his  own  might,  and  the 
fiend's !  Come,  Hester,  come  !  Support  me  up  yonder 
scaffold ! " 

The  crowd  was  in  a  tumult.  The  men  of  rank  and 
dignity,  who  stood  more  immediately  around  the  clergy- 
man, were  so  taken  by  surprise,  and  so  perplexed  as  to 
the  purport  of  what  they  saw,  —  unable  to  receive  the 
explanation  which  most  readily  presented  itself,  or  to 
imagine  any  other,  —  that  they  remained  silent  and 
inactive  spectators  of  the  judgment  which  Providence 
seemed  about  to  work.  They  beheld  the  minister,  lean- 
ing on  Hester's  shoulder,  and  supported  by  her  arm 
around  him,  approach  the  scaffold,  and  ascend  its  steps  ; 
while  still  the  little  hand  of  the  sin-born  child  was 
clasped  in  his.  Old  Roger  Chillingworth  followed,  as 
one  intimately  connected  with  the  drama  of  guilt  and 
sorrow  in  which  they  had  all  been  actors,  and  well 
entitled,  therefore,  to  be  present,  at  its  closing  scene. 

"  Hadst  thou  sought  the  whole  earth  over,"  said  he, 
looking  darkly  at  the  clergyman,  "there  was  no  one 
place  so  secret,  —  no  high  place  nor  lowly  place,  whero 
thou  couldst  have  escaped  me,  —  save  on  this  very 
scaffold!" 


296  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  Thanks  be  to  Him  who  hath  led  me  hither ! "  an- 
swered the  minister. 

Yet  he  trembled,  and  turned  to  Hester  with  an  ex- 
pression of  doubt  and  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  not  the  less 
evidently  betrayed,  that  there  was  a  feeble  smile  upon 
his  lips. 

"Is  not  this  better,"  murmured  he,  uthan  what  we 
dreamed  of  in  the  forest  ? " 

"  I  know  not !  I  know  not ! "  she  hurriedly  replied. 
"  Better  ?  Yea ;  so  we  may  both  die,  and  little  Pearl 
die  with  us  ! " 

"  For  thee  and  Pearl,  be  it  as  God  shall  order/'  said 
the  minister;  "and  God  is  merciful !  Let  me  row  do 
the  will  which  he  hath  made  plain  before  my  sigHt. 
For,  Hester,  I  am  a  dying  man.  So  let  me  mak**  ha-  te 
to  take  my  shame  upon  me  ! " 

Partly  supported  by  Hester  Prynne,  and  holdH&  cne 
hand  of  little  Pearl's,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmsv;o>le 
turned  to  the  dignified  and  venerable  rulers ;  to  the,  ho]y 
ministers,  who  were  his  brethren ;  to  the  people, 
great  heart  was  thoroughly  appalled,  yet  ove 
with  tearful  sympathy,  as  knowing  that  some  deep  life- 
matter —  which,  if  full  of  sin,  was  full  of  anguish  an  I 
repentance  likewise  —  was  now  to  be  laid  open  to  then* , 
The  sun,  but  little  past  its  meridian,  shone  down  upon  tb», 
clergyman,  and  gave  a  distinctness  to  his  figure,  as  be 
stood  out  from  all  the  earth,  to  put  in  his  plea  of  £uil*y 
at  the  bar  of  Eternal  Justice. 

"  People  of  New  England  ! "  cried  lie,  with  a  voice 
that  rose  over  them,  high,  solemn,  and  majestic,  —  yet 
had  always  a  tremor  through  it,  and  sometimes  a  skrieK:, 
struggling  up  out  of  a  fathomless  depth  of  remorse  anJ 


THE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.        297 

woe,  —  "  ye,  that  have  loved  me  !  —  ye,  that  have 
deemed  me  holy !  —  behold  me  here,  the  one  sinner  of 
the  world  !  At  last !  —  at  last !  —  I  stand  upon  the 
spot  where,  seven  years  since,  I  should  have  stood; 
here,  with  this  woman,  whose  arm,  more  than  the  little 
strength  wherewith  I  have  crept  hitherward,  sustains 
me,  at  this  dreadful  moment,  from  grovelling  down  upon 
my  face  !  Lo,  the  scarlet  letter  which  Hester  wears  ! 
Ye  have  all  shuddered  at  it !  Wherever  her  walk  hath 
been,  —  wherever,  so  miserably  burdened,  she  may  have 
hoped  to  find  repose,  —  it  hath  cast  a  lurid  gleam  of 
awe  and  horrible  repugnance  round  about  her.  But 
there  stood  one  in  the  midst  of  you,  at  whose  brand  of 
sin  and  infamy  ye  have  not  shuddered ! " 

It  seemed,  at  this  point,  as  if  the  minister  must 
leave  the  remainder  of  his  secret  undisclosed.  But  he 
fought  back  the  bodily  weakness,  —  and,  still  more,  the 
faintness  of  heart,  —  that  was  striving  for  the  mastery 
with  him.  He  threw  off  all  assistance,  and  stepped 
passionately  forward  a  pace  before  the  woman  and  the 
child. 

"  It  was  on  him  ! "  he  continued,  with  a  kind  of 
fierceness ;  so  determined  was  he  to  speak  out  the 
whole.  "  God's  eye  beheld  it !  The  angels  were  for- 
ever pointing  at  it !  The  Devil  knew  it  well,  and  fretted 
it  continually  with  the  touch  of  his  burning  finger  !  But 
he  hid  it  cunningly  from  men,  and  walked  among  you 
with  the  mien  of  a  spirit,  mournful,  because  so  pure  in  a 
sinful  world  !  —  and  sad,  because  he  missed  his  heavenly 
kindred  !  Now,  at  the  death-hour,  he  stands  up  before 
you  !  He  bids  you  look  again  at  Hester's  scarlet  letter ! 
He  tells  you,  that,  with  all  its  mysterious  horror,  it  is 


298  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

but  the  shadow  of  what  he  bears  on  his  own  bi»ast,  and 
that  even  this,  his  own  red  stigma,  is  no  more  than  the 
type  of  what  has  seared  his  inmost  heart !  Stand  any 
here  that  question  God's  judgment  on  a  sinner  ?  Be- 
hold !  Behold  a  dreadful  witness  of  it !  " 

With  a  convulsive  motion,  he  tore  away  the  minis- 
terial band  from  before  his  breast.  It  was  revealed  ! 
But  it  were  irreverent  to  describe  that  revelation.  For 
an  instant,  the  gaze  of  the  horror-stricken  multitude  was 
concentred  on  the  ghastly  miracle ;  while  the  minister 
stood,  with  a  flush  of  triumph  in  his  face,  as  one  who,  in 
the  crisis  of  acutest  pain,  had  won  a  victory.  Then, 
down  he  sank  upon  the  scaffold !  Hester  partly  raised 
him,  and  supported  his  head  against  her  bosom.  Old 
Roger  Chillingworth  knelt  down  beside  him,  with  a 
blank,  dull  countenance,  out  of  which  the  life  seemed  to 
to  have  departed. 

"  Thou  hast  escaped  me !  "  he  repeated  more  than 
once.  "  Thou  hast  escaped  me  !  " 

"  May  God  forgive  thee  !  "  said  the  minister.  "  Thou, 
too,  hast  deeply  sinned !  " 

He  withdrew  his  dying  eyes  from  the  old  man,  and 
fixed  them  on  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  My  little  Pearl,"  said  he,  feebly,  —  and  there  was  a 
sweet  and  gentle  smile  over  his  face,  as  of  a  spirit  sink- 
ing into  deep  repose ;  nay,  now  that  the  burden  was 
removed,  it  seemed  almost  as  if  he  would  be  sportive 
with  the  child,  —  "  dear  little  Pearl,  wilt  thou  kiss  me 
now  ?  Thou  wouldst  not,  yonder,  in  the  forest !  But 
now  thou  wilt  ?  " 

Pearl  kissed  his  lips.     A  spell  was  broken.    The  great . 
scene  of  grief,  in  which  the  wild  infant  bore  a  part,  had 
developed  all  her  sympathies ;  and  as  her  tears  fell  upon 


THE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER.        299 

her  father's  cheek,  they  were  the  pledge  that  she  would 
grow  up  amid  human  joy  and  sorrow,  nor  forever  do  bat- 
tle with  the  world,  but  be  a  woman  in  it.  Towards  her 
mother,  too,  Pearl's  errand  as  a  messenger  of  anguish 
was  all  fulfilled. 

"  Hester,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  farewell !  " 

"  Shall  we  not  meet  again  ? "  whispered  she,  bending 
her  face  down  close  to  his.  "  Shall  we  not  spend  our 
immortal  life  together  ?  Surely,  surely,  we  have  ran- 
somed one  another,  with  all  this  woe !  Thou  lookest 
far  into  eternity,  with  those  bright  dying  eyes !  Then 
tell  me  what  thou  seest  ? " 

"  Hush,  Hester,  hush ! "  said  he,  with  tremulous 
solemnity.  "  The  law  we  broke  !  —  the  sin  here  so 
awfully  revealed  !  —  let  these  alone  be  in  thy  thoughts  ! 
I  fear  !  I  fear !  It  may  be,  that,  when  we  forgot  our 
God,  —  when  we  violated  our  reverence  each  for  the 
other's  soul,  —  it  was  thenceforth  vain  to  hope  that  we 
could  meet  hereafter,  in  an  everlasting  and  pure  re- 
union. God  knows ;  and  He  is  merciful !  He  hath 
proved  his  mercy,  most  of  all,  in  my  afflictions.  By 
giving  me  this  burning  torture  to  bear  upon  my  breast ! 
By  sending  yonder  dark  and  terrible  old  man,  to  keep 
the  torture  always  at  red-heat !  By  bringing  me  hither, 
to  die  this  death  of  triumphant  ignominy  before  the  peo- 
ple !  Had  either  of  these  agonies  been  wanting,  I  had 
been  lost  forever  !  Praised  be  his  name !  His  will  be 
done  !  Farewell !  " 

That  final  word  came  forth  with  the  minister's  ex- 
piring breath.  The  multitude,  silent  till  then,  broke  out 
in  a  strange,  deep  voice  of  awe  and  wonder,  which  could 
not  as  yet  find  utterance,  save  in  thismurmur'ihit  rolled 
so  heavily  after  the  departed  spirit. 


300  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


XXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

AFTER  many  days,  \rhen  time  sufficed  for  the  people 
to  arrange  their  thoughts  in  reference  to  the  foregoing 
scene,  there  was  more  than  one  account  of  what  had 
been  witnessed  on  the  scaffold. 

Most  of  the  spectators  testified  to  having  seen,  on  the 
breast  of  the  unhappy  minister,  a  SCARLET  LETTER  —  the 
very  semblance  of  that  worn  by  Hester  Prynne — im- 
printed in  the  flesh.  As  regarded  its  origin,  there  were 
various  explanations,  all  of  which  must  necessarily  have 
been  conjectural.  Some  affirmed  that  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  on  the  very  day  when  Hester  Prynne  first 
wore  her  ignominious  badge,  had  begun  a  course  of  pen- 
ance, —  which  he  afterwards,  in  so  many  futile  methods, 
followed  out,  —  by  inflicting  a  hideous  torture  on  him- 
self. Others  contended  that  the  stigma  had  not  been 
produced  until  a  long  time  subsequent,  when  old  Roger 
Chillingworth,  being  a  potent  necromancer,  had  caused 
it  to  appear,  through  the  agency  of  magic  and  poisonous 
drugs.  Others,  again,  —  and  those  best  able  to  appre- 
ciate the  minister's  peculiar  sensibility,  and  the  wonder- 
ful operation  of  his  spirit  upon  the  body,  —  whispered 
their  belief,  that  the  awful  symbol  was  the  effect  of  the 
ever  active  tooth  of  remorse,  gnawing  from  the  inmost 
heart  outwardly,  and  at  last  manifesting  Heaven's  dread- 
ful judgment  by  the  visible  presence  of  the  letter.  The 
reader  may  choose  among  these  theories.  We  have 


CONCLUSION.  301 

thrown  all  the  light  we  could  acquire  upon  the  portent, 
and  would  gladly,  now  that  it  has  done  its  office,  erase 
its  deep  print  out  of  our  own  brain ;  where  long  medita- 
tion has  fixed  it  in  very  undesirable  distinctness. 

It  is  singular,  nevertheless,  that  certain  persons,  who 
were  spectators  of  the  whole  scene,  and  professed  never 
once  to  have  removed  their  eyes  from  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  denied  that  there  was  any  mark  whatever 
on  his  breast,  more  than  on  a  new-born  infant's.  Neither, 
by  their  report,  had  his  dying  words  acknowledged,  nor 
even  remotely  implied,  any,"  the  slightest  connection,  on 
his  part,  with  the  guilt  for  which  Hester  Prynne  had  so 
long  worn  the  scarlet  letter.  According  to  these  highly 
respectable  witnesses,  the  minister,  conscious  that  he  was 
dying,  —  conscious,  also,  that  the  reverence  of  the  mul- 
titude placed  him  already  among  saints  and  angels,  — 
had  desired,  by  yielding  up  his  breath  in  the  arms  of  that 
fallen  woman,  to  express  to  the  world  how  utterly  nuga- 
tory is  the  choicest  of  man's  own  righteousness.  After 
exhausting  life  in  his  efforts  for  mankind's  spiritual  good, 
he  had  made  the  manner  of  his  death  a  parable,  in  order 
to  impress  on  his  admirers  the  mighty  and  mournful  les- 
son, that,  in  the  view  of  Infinite  Purity,  we  are  sinners 
all  alike.  It  was  to  teach  them,  that  the  holiest  among 
us  has  but  attained  so  far  above  his  fellows  as  to  discern 
more  clearly  the  Mercy  which  looks  down,  and  repudiate 
more  utterly  the  phantom  of  human  merit,  which  would 
look  aspiringly  upward.  Without  disputing  a  truth  so 
momentous,  we  must  be  allowed  to  consider  this  version 
of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  story  as  only  an  instance  of  that 
stubborn  fidelity  with  which  a  man's  friends  —  and 
especially  a  clergyman's  —  will  sometimes  uphold  his 


302  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

character,  when  proofs,  clear  as  the  mid-day  sunshine 
on  the  scarlet  letter,  establish  him  a  false  and  sin-stained 
creature  of  the  dust. 

The  authority  which  we  have  chiefly  followed,  —  a 
manuscript  of  old  date,  drawn  up  from  the  verhal  testi- 
mony of  individuals,  some  of  whom  had  known  Hester 
Prynne.  while  others  had  heard  the  tale  from  contempo- 
rary witnesses,  —  fully  confirms  the  view  taken  in  the 
foregoing  pages.  Among  many  morals  which  press  upon 
us  from  the  poor  minister's  miserable  experience,  we  put 
only  this  into  a  sentence  :  — -  "  Be  true  !  Be  true  !  Be 
true !  Show  freely  to  the  world,  if  not  your  worst,  yet 
some  trait  whereby  the  worst  may  be  inferred !  " 

Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  change  which 
took  place,  almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
death,  in  the  appearance  and  demeanor  of  the  old  man 
known  as  Koger  Chillingworth.  All  his  strength  and 
energy  —  all  his  vital  and  intellectual  force  —  seemed  at 
once  to  desert  him ;  insomuch  that  he  positively  withered 
up,  shrivelled  away,  and  almost  vanished  from  mortal 
sight,  like  an  uprooted  weed  that  lies  wilting  in  the  sun. 
This  unhappy  man  had  made  the  very  principle  of  his 
life  to  consist  in  the  pursuit  and  systematic  exercise  of 
revenge ;  and  when,  by  its  completest  triumph  and  con- 
summation, that  evil  principle  was  left  with  no  further 
material  to  support  it,  when,  in  short,  there  was  no 
more  Devil's  work  on  earth  for  him  to  do,  it  only  remained 
for  the  unhumanized  mortal  to  betake  himself  whither 
his  Master  would  find  him  tasks  enough,  and  pay  him 
his  wages  duly.  But,  to  all  these  shadowy  beings,  so 
long  our  near  acquaintances,  —  as  well  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  as  his  companions,  —  we  would  fain  be  merciful. 


CONCLUSION.  303 

It  is  a  curious  subject  of  observation  and  inquiry,  whether 
hatred  and  love  be  not  the  same  thing  at  bottom.  Each, 
in  its  utmost  development,  supposes  a  high  degree  of 
intimacy  and  heart-knowledge ;  each  renders  one  indi- 
vidual dependent  for  the  food  of  his  affections  and  spirit- 
ual life  upon  another ;  each  leaves  the  passionate  lover, 
or  the  no  less  passionate  hater,  forlorn  and  desolate  by 
the  withdrawal  of  his  subject.  Philosophically  consid- 
ered, therefore,  the  two  passions  seem  essentially  the 
same,  except  that  one  happens  to  be  seen  in  a  celestial 
radiance,  and  the  other  in  a  dusky  and  lurid  glow.  In 
the  spiritual  world,  the  old  physician  and  the  minister 
—  mutual  victims  as  they  have  been  —  may,  unawares, 
have  found  their  earthly  stock  of  hatred  and  antipathy 
transmuted  into  golden  love. 

Leaving  this  discussion  apart,  we  have  a  matter  of 
business  to  communicate  to  the  reader.  At  old  Roger 
Chillingworth's  decease,  (which  took  place  within  the 
year,)  and  by  his  last  will  and  testament,  of  which  Gov- 
ernor Bellingham  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  were 
executors,  he  bequeathed  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
property,  both  here  and  in  England,  to  little  Pearl,  the 
daughter  of  Hester  Prynne. 

So  Pearl  —  the  elf-child,  —  the  demon  offspring,  as 
&ome  people,  up  to  that  epoch,  persisted  in  considering 
her,  —  became  the  richest  heiress  of  her  day,  in  the  New 
World.  Not  improbably,  this  circumstance  wrought  a 
very  material  change  in  the  public  estimation  ;  and,  had 
the  mother  and  child  remained  here,  little  Pearl,  at  a 
marriageable  period  of  life,  might  have  mingled Jier  wild 
blood  with  the  lineage  of  the  devoutest  Puritan  among 
them  aD.  Bat,  in  no  long  time  after  the  piysician's 


304  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

death,  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter  disappeared,  and 
Pearl  along  with  her.  For  many  years,  though  a  vague 
report  would  now  and  then  find  its  way  across  the  sea, 

—  like  a  shapeless  piece  of  driftwood  tost  ashore,  with 
the  initials  of  a  name  upon  it,  —  yet  no  tidings  of  them 
unquestionably  authentic  were  received.     The  story  of 
the  scarlet  letter  grew  into  a  legend.    Its  spell,  however, 
was  still  potent,  and  kept  the  scaffold  awful  where  the 
poor  minister  had  died,  and  likewise  the  cottage  by  the 
sea-shore,  where  Hester  Prynne  had  dwelt.     Near  this 
latter  spot,  one  afternoon,  some  children  were  at  play, 
when  they  beheld  a  tall  woman,  in  a  gray  robe,  approach 
the  cottage-door,     In  all  those  years  it  had  never  once 
been  opened ;  but  either  she  unlocked  it,  or  the  decaying 
wood  and  iron  yielded  to  her  hand,  or  she  glided  shadow- 
like  through  these  impediments,  —  and,  at  all  events, 
went  in. 

On  the  threshold  she  paused,  —  turned  partly  round, 

—  for,  perchance,  the  idea  of  entering  all  alone,  and  all 
so  changed,  the  home  of  so  intense  a  former  life,  was 
more  dreary  and  desolate  than  even  she  could  bear.    But 
her  hesitation  was  only  for  an   instant,  though   long 
enough  to  display  a  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast. 

And  Hester  Prynne  had  returned,  and  taken  up  her 
long-forsaken  shame  !  But  where  was  little  Pearl  ?  If 
still  alive,  she  must  now  have  been  in  the  flush  and 
bloom  of  early  womanhood.  None  knew  —  nor  ever 
learned,  with  the  fulness  of  perfect  certainty  —  whether 
the  elf-child  had  gone  thus  untimely  to  a  maiden  grave  ; 
or  whether  her  wild,  rich  nature  had  been  softened  and 
subdued,  and  made  capable  of  a  woman's  gentle  happi- 
ness. But,  through  the  remainder  of  Hester's  life,  there 


CONCLUSION.  305 

were  indications  that  the  recluse  of  the  scarlet  letter  was 
the  object  of  love  and  interest  with  some  inhabitant  of 
another  land.  Letters  came,  with  armorial  seals  upon 
them,  though  of  bearings  unknown  to  English  heraldry. 
Jn  the  cottage  there  were  articles  of  comfort  and  luxury, 
such  as  Hester  never  cared  to  use,  but  which  only  wealth 
could  have  purchased,  and  affection  have  imagined  for 
her.  There  were  trifles,  too,  little  ornaments,  beautiful 
tokens  of  a  continual  remembrance,  that  must  have  been 
wrought  by  delicate  fingers,  at  the  impulse  of  a  fond 
heart.  And,  once,  Hester  was  seen  embroidering  a  baby- 
garment,  with  such  a  lavish  richness  of  golden  fancy  as 
would  have  raised  a  public  tumult,  had  any  infant,  thus 
apparelled,  been  shown  to  our  sober-hued  community. 

In  fine,  the  gossips  of  that  day  believed,  —  and  Mr. 
Surveyor  Pue,  who  made  investigations  a  century  later, 
believed,  —  and  one  of  his  recent  successors  in  office, 
moreover,  faithfully  believes,  —  that  Pearl  was  not  only 
alive,  but  married,  and  happy,  and  mindful  of  her  mother; 
and  that  she  would  most  joyfully  have  entertained  that 
sad  and  lonely  mother  at  her  fireside. 

But  there  was  a  more  real  life  for  Hester  Prynne, 
here,  in  New  England,  than  in  that  unknown  region 
where  Pearl  had  found  a  home.  Here  had  been  her  sin ; 
here,  her  sorrow ;  and  here  was  yet  to  be  her  penitence. 
She  had  returned,  therefore,  and  resumed,  —  of  her  own 
free  will,  for  not  the  sternest  magistrate  of  that  iron  period 
would  have  imposed  it,  —  resumed  the  symbol  of  which 
we  have  related  so  dark  a  tale.  Never  afterwards  did 
it  quit  her  bosom.  But,  in  the  lapse  of  the  toilsome, 
thoughtful,  and  self-devoted  years  that  made  up  Hesters 
life,  the  scarlet  letter  ceased  to  be  a  stigma  wh'ch  at- 
20 


306  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

traded  the  world's  scorn  and  bitterness,  and  became  a 
type  of  something  to  be  sorrowed  over,  and  looked  upon 
with  awe,  yet  with  reverence  too.  And,  as  Hester 
Prynne  had  no  selfish  ends,  nor  lived  in  any  measure 
for  her  own  profit  and  enjoyment,  people  brought  all 
their  sorrows  and  perplexities,  and  besought  her  counsel, 
as  one  who  had  herself  gone  through  a  mighty  trouble. 
Women,  more  especially,  —  in  the  continually  recurring 
trials  of  wounded,  wasted,  wronged,  misplaced,  or  erring 
and  sinful  passion,  —  or  with  the  dreary  burden  of  a 
heart  unyielded,  because  unvalued  and  unsought,  — 
came  to  Hester's  cottage,  demanding  why  they  were  so 
wretched,  and  what  the  remedy !  Hester  comforted  and 
counselled  them,  as  best  she  might.  She  assured  them, 
too,  of  her  firm  belief,  that,  at  some  brighter  period,  when 
the  world  should  have  grown  ripe  for  it,  in  Heaven's  own 
time,  a  new  truth  would  be  revealed,  in  order  to  establish 
the  whole  relation  between  man  and  woman  on  a  surer 
ground  of  mutual  happiness.  Earlier  in  life,  Hester  had 
vainly  imagined  that  she  herself  might  be  the  destined 
prophetess,  but  had  long  since  recognized  the  impossi- 
bility that  any  mission  of  divine  and  mysterious  truth 
should  be  confided  to  a  woman  stained  with  sin,  bowed 
down  with  shame,  or  even  burdened  with  a  life-long  sor- 
row. The  angel  and  apostle  of  the  coming  revelation 
must  be  a  woman,  indeed,  but  lofty,  pure,  and  beautiful; 
and  wise,  moreover,  not  through  dusky  grief,  but  the 
ethereal  medium  of  joy ;  and  showing  how  sacred  love 
should  make  us  happy,  by  the  truest  test  of  a  life  sue 
cessful  to  such  an  end  ! 

So  said  Hester  Prynne,  and  glanced  her  sad  eyes 
downward  at  the  scarlet  letter.    And,  after  many,  many 


CONCLUSION.  307 

years,  a  new  grave  was  delved,  near  an  old  and  sunken 
one,  in  that  burial-ground  beside  which  King's  Chapel 
has  since  been  built.  It  was  near  that  old  and  sunken 
grave,  yet  with  a  space  between,  as  if  the  dust  of  the 
two  sleepers  had  no  right  to  mingle.  Yet  one  tomb- 
stone served  for  both.  All  around,  there  were  monu- 
ments carved  with  armorial  bearings ;  and  on  this  simple 
slab  of  slate  —  as  the  curious  investigator  may  still  dis 
cern,  and  perplex  himself  with  the  purport  —  there  ap- 
peared the  semblance  of  an  engraved  escutcheon.  It 
bore  a  device,  a  herald's  wording  of  which  might  serve 
for  a  motto  and  brief  description  of  our  now  concluded 
legend ;  so  sombre  is  it,  and  relieved  only  by  one  ever- 
glowing  point  of  light  gloomier  than  the  shadow :  — 

"ON   A   FIELD,   SABLE,   THE    LETTER   A,   GULES." 


, 

)#u 


